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QUIET INTERIOR 


BY EC Bf Cr JONES 



BONI AND LIVERIGHT 


PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 


To “The Others" 




(Printed in Great Britain) 




^ONTEmS 

PART ONE ; THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 

PAGE 

I. Sisters and Mothers ii 

II. Confidence ------ 22 

III. Family Life 36 

IV. The Scrupulous Soul - _ . . 

V. A Cockney Outing 59 

VI. The Rent in the Curtains - - - 71 

VII. Gifts 83 

VIII. Skeletons in the Cupboard - - 91 

IX. Treble and Bass ----- m 

X. Premeditation 125 

PART TWO : ENCOUNTER 

XI. At Sparrows 143 

PART THREE : THE STEADFAST FRIEND 

XII. The Happy Catechist - - - . 15^ 

XIII. Emotion in Retrospect - - - - 

XIV. A Woman of the World - - - - 182 


CONTENTS 


PAOB 


XV. Henrietta and Bill > 

XVI. Return - 

XVII. The Fruit Ripens 
XVIII. Stage Management - 

XIX. The Steadfast Friend 

XX. Shaking the Tree 

XXI. The Fruit Will Fall - 


- 194 

- 208 

- 221 
‘ 233 

- 243 

- 258 

- 285 


viii 


PART ONE 

THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 


% 


A 


CHAPTER I 
Sisters and Mothers 

Claire went slowly upstairs, pulling off her reindeer 
gloves. As her head came level with the landing window, 
which looked out on to the paved court of a club, she saw 
the fine black tracery of leafless plane trees against the 
blue October sky. There was some magic for her in leafless 
boughs : she loved their austerity, the rhythm of their 
lines, unblurred by bursting, sticky buds, pricked vernal 
leaves, thick drooping foliage, tassels, streaks or cones 
of bloom. She loved etchings, the sharp silhouette of 
crags and masonry ; rain frozen in hard ruts ; dew on 
dark thorns ; frost pencillings on the pane ; the pale 
tints and thin lines of a wintry country-side. But this 
taste for severity and pallor was no indication of ascetic- 
ism ; it was as sensuous and aesthetic as another’s love 
for deep banks of flowers, luxurious fabrics. One stand- 
ing before an espalier crucified upon the wall, would 
rejoice if an apricot, sunned through to the core, 
dropped into his hand ; and Claire’s pleasure in the 
pattern of the espalier and its slender leaves would be 
no less. 

There was in her appearance a clue to her tastes — 
something fastidious, and delicately sombre in her dress ; 
something '' slender and austere ” in the lines and 
colours of her countenance. Her face was pale, and 
significant only because it was clear-cut ; her hair dark 
and well under control ; her clothes mole-grey. Nothing 
in her, as it were, broke out — ^not a vivid jewel or ribbon 
nor a predominating feature ; her facial irregularities 
were not sufficiently marked to mar the whole effect of 


II 


12 QUIET INTERIOR 

intaglio-like fineness and restraint : she would always 
be — ^precious, perhaps, but not generally prized. Not 
even a walk in the sharp morning air, shot through with 
brilliant sunlight, had tinged her cheeks, and her ex- 
pression was dreamy. She had paced St. James’s Park 
half wrapped away in childish memories, half conscious 
of good health, fine weather and gentle melancholy. 
This last was all the toll demanded of her, to-day, by 
the war which hung like a vast obscure yet lurid black 
cloth against which she herself and the population of 
London moved and gesticulated like puppets too small 
for the proportions of their stage. Sometimes she was 
stricken with the horror of imagined and unimaginable 
death, agony and loss ; sometimes when she heard others 
talk complacently of the war, dealing with it in fatuous 
catchwords, she was filled with impotent amazed fury ; 
but to-day, her imagination having gone back into 
the past, sudden death, blood, uproar and pain seemed 
remote and improbable. The season of misty morn- 
ings and falling leaves denied the possibility of war- 
fare. 

Even in a dreamy mood Claire’s poise was alert. 
She moved easily ; without having given one half- 
thought to her chmb she had reached the third floor, 
and stood outside her sister’s room. She went quietly 
in. 

Pauline lay asleep, in a white painted bed, whose posts 
were carved into conventional little palm-trees that 
reminded one of the sunshades held over court ladies 
by black boys in French prints. The whole room was 
white and buff, high, large, sunny and panelled. It 
was full now of frosty warmth, a very faint smell and a 
sense of well-being. Two wedge-shaped plaques of sun- 
light lay on the parquet beneath the windows ; Claire 
passed like a substantial shadow over them and looked 
out of the window into the street, which lay vacant in 
the sunny forenoon. Her sister did not move. The 
only noise was the stirring of the small fire, before which 


SISTERS AND MOTHERS 13 

a green frock hung over a chair. The maid had lit the 
fire and that was all ; two green satin shoes lay where 
they had been tossed off beside the bed. The gilt travel- 
ling clock on the Adam mantelpiece struck eleven. 
Claire went over to it, and ran her finger nail down the 
golden beading ; the hands shone blue-black like a 
beetle’s wing. She leant above the fire, listening to the 
distant rumble of Westminster and to the deep quiet 
of the house. She was alone with a stranger ; even our 
intimate friends are strangers when they sleep, and have 
to be re-learnt. Sleepers are only a few degrees more 
like themselves than corpses are like the living beings 
they were a short while since. Claire and Pauline were 
intimate, but from proximity not friendship. Adoles- 
cence had partially alienated them, and the alienation 
did not disturb them. They were coolly fond, loyal 
with the loyalty of youth in a world ruled by the 
requirements of the old — ^not with the loyalty of love. 
They no more regretted the close ties of childhood 
than they regretted their old habit of chewing each 
other's thumbs. . . . One does, after all, grow up and 
alter. 

Presently Claire went over to the bed and said, '' Wake 
up ! You lazy beast, wake up.” 

Pauline half opened her grey eyes and mumbled : 

Ooh. Beast to wake me. What time is it ? ” 

“ Nearly noon.” 

I didn’t get to bed till four. Ring, like a dear. 
Salmi of pheasant has no staying power.” 

Was it fun ? ” 

“Yes. But that oaf Gertrude had on a blue version 
of my dress — a sickly blue. Has Mamma got thej[^car 
out ? ” 

“ Yes. I think she’s gone to some exhibition.” 

“ Dash ! Never mind. Oh, I say, Claire, who do you 
think was there last night ? ” 

“ Can’t think. All Bayswater, I suppose, preceded 
by noses.” 


14 QUIET INTERIOR 

Funny ! It’s a pity you didn’t come. I somehow 
knew something was going to happen.” 

“ Don’t start premonitions, for goodness sake. Well, 
who ? ” 

** Ivor Webb.” 

'‘Oh. What was he doing ? ” 

" Sensation ? No sensation ! Really, Claire, I do 
think you might show a little intelligent surprise ; as 
Aunt Connie says, you've no social sense. . . . The great 
Ivor is on leave.” 

Claire sat quiet, and with averted face, moving her 
eyes from one to the other of Pauline’s toilet accessories : 
ivory boxes and brushes, each set with a blue wedgwood 
medallion. It was only with a shrinking feeling that she 
recalled her brief relationship with Ivor Webb ; she 
was ashamed, not of the part she had played, but of 
the excitement which had tinged her disgust at his 
part — she ought only to have been repelled and indig- 
nant ; she had been, besides, moved, not altogether 
unpleasantly, and a little flattered. She excused her 
past self to her condemning present self : “I was only 
nineteen.” 

" He’s coming to-day,” Pauline went on. " Shall you 
be in ? And does he take in what one wears ? ” 

Claire noticed that Pauline regarded her as an author- 
ity on the young man. " No,” she answered. 

"No, to which ? He suggested coming himself. I 
must have made an impression, Claire, mustn’t I ? What 
shall I wear ? ” 

" Unadorned, save for a — I didn’t know you were 
keen on Ivor,” Claire said with sufficient nonchalance. 

" Ah, you don’t know everything.” The younger 
girl’s tone was fatuous ; it irritated her sister, who got 
up from the bed and exclaimed impulsively : " Well, if 
you understand half he says you’ll be cleverer than me.” 
She immediately regretted her speech when Pauline, 
whose curiosity it had aroused, asked her what she 
meant. 


SISTERS AND MOTHERS 15 

** Oh well, I dare say I could cope with several Ivor 
Webbs now, but when he stayed with us at Sparrows 
I was your age. He spent the whole week talking — 
as though he had a bet on to utter several million sen- 
tences. But I dare say he won’t do that to you ; you’re 
pretty.’’ 

Pauline felt rather at a loss, but her answer was suitably, 
amusedly sceptical : '' He treated you specially, did 
he ? Epigrams, was it ? ” 

No, not epigrams. But he did think he was being 
rather clever.” 

Conscious of having been baffled — ^though why she 
had no idea — Pauline began to eat the breakfast that a 
maid had just brought in. ** What should you say was 
his best quality ? ” she presently asked. 

I should say his appreciation of charm and intelli- 
gence and beauty. He’s always on the spot with his 
responsiveness — ^that’s the nice thing about him.” 

” Yes, it is pleasant to be appreciated. ... Be an 
angel and turn on my bath.” Pauline’s perpetual 
assumption that those around her were willing, if not 
anxious, to serve her, was on the whole successful. Her 
sister went into the adjoining bathroom — ^tiny and 
white-tiled. When she returned, Pauline was standing 
before the mirror, rolling up her fawn-coloured hair, 
the crest of whose every little wave had a golden glint. 
Claire stood behind her, and looked at their two reflec- 
tions ; herself, small and pale, and dark — perhaps even 
insignificant ; the other taller, rosier, clear and bright. 
There was between them a faint family likeness, due 
only to the characteristic which both had inherited from 
their mother — ^the downward slant of the brows and 
lids at their outer corners, which gave their eyes a 
dreamy look. Otherwise, facially Pauline resembled 
their father : she was pure Norris ; but she had her 
mother’s long legs — an inheritance of which Claire was 
extremely envious. 

” Nice eyebrows ! ” said Pauline, with an affected 


i6 QUIET INTERIOR 

childish intonation. “ Poke the fire before you go 
away.” And she vanished into the bathroom. 

Claire deposited her outdoor clothes in her own room 
and went down to the back drawing-room, which was 
used by the whole family, and which the girls called the 
larder. It was shut off by folding doors from the large 
saloon, and in it were collected the most cherished, 
most familiar of those possessions which the Norrises had 
brought with them from Leicester to London three years 
ago. It was full of bad water-colours adored by the 
owners, hideous but beloved ornaments, ugly but com- 
fortable chairs. There was a bureau with enough 
pigeon-holes to hold the papers of mother and daughters ; 
and a revolving bookcase whose corners viciously assault- 
ed the unwary, which shook like an aspen when knocked, 
but when required to revolve demanded the full strength 
of one arm. There were objects which had immemorial 
positions on the mantelpiece (and until she had mastered 
these positions, a new housemaid was regarded by the 
female Norrises as an alien enemy) ; a lump of blue-john 
brought back by Mrs. Norris from her honeymoon in 
Derbyshire ; two Venetian glasses on dolphin pedestals, 
delicate as bubbles, spangled with dim gold ; a delphin- 
ium-coloured Chinese enamel cigarette-box inlaid with 
a green and lemon dragon, and a new photograph of 
Mrs. Norris’s sister Connie. 

The sun never entered the back drawing-room in the 
forenoon ; it had a rather dank atmosphere. Claire’s 
first care therefore was the fire. Next she lit a cigarette, 
and looked out of the window, across the sooty iron 
balcony ; the view was the same as the passage window’s 
and her own room’s. Then she began her correspondence. 

When Mrs. Norris entered she did not turn, she even 
scribbled with an added and quite fictitious absorption. 
This was her customary reaction from her mother’s 
hesitancy — ^her vague wandering, her gentle restlessness, 
her vacant fire-gazings. Claire, of all idlers the least 
ashamed, yet assumed an air of concentration when in 


SISTERS AND MOTHERS 17 

proximity with her mother, perhaps for the mere reason 
that she herself was inclined to stare and dream and sit 
unoccupied with drooping hands ; it was partly, too, 
simply a manifestation of youth’s intolerance for the 
idiosyncrasies of older people. 

Mrs. Norris was shaped like Pauline and walked with 
a balanced head. Her throat had the pre-Raphaelite 
fullness which supports the theory of nature’s tendency 
to imitate art. Dark hair grew high on her forehead 
and was drawn over her ears ; it was scarcely streaked 
with grey. Her face, its fineness blurred by the touch 
of middle-age, recalled the grave pallid young men of 
Italian pictures, dressed with sombre richness, stoled 
with fur. Her dress was spasmodically embroidered, 
and had a pendant pocket. Mrs. Norris was nearing 
fifty ; her daughters accused her chaffingly of living in 
a little world of her own. 

'' Well, darling,” she said to Claire’s busy back, shifting 
the chairs to and fro a little, as was her habit. 

“ I thought you’d gone out, mother.” 

“I’m going at twelve to drop Tom at the House. He 
has to see a man . . .” her voice trailed off. 

“ About a dog ? ” Claire prompted. 

“ No. He’s called Montgomery.” 

“ Oh yes, the Member.” 

Mrs. Norris sat down softly, as she did ever5dhing, 
but her feet grated the irons on the fender. “ I once 
knew such a nice man called Montgomery. He beat 
copper most beautifully. But he quite went to pieces 
when his wife left him.” 

“ I suppose he beat her too — or she him.” 

Mrs. Norris had a disconcerting way of taking flippant 
remarks seriously. 

“ After that, of course, he couldn’t be a crafts- 
man any more. He took to — I think it was casting 
bells.” 

“ What a nasty come-down.” Claire licked her 
envelope. 


b 


i8 QUIET INTERIOR 

” Ah, but he had to work out his salvation, you see. 
I quite lost sight of him.” 

“ And I suppose he’s casting bells to this very day.” 
Claire liked her tales neatly rounded off. 

Yes, dear — unless he’s dead.” 

Presently the girl turned round in her chair and said : 
Mother, did you see old Mr. Parsons’s death in the 
paper ? ” 

“ Oh, my dear ! Really ? Poor old man ! I wonder 
what will happen to poor Clement ? ” 

“ I can’t think — She’ll be horribly left.” 

He has some relations, I suppose, that he can go to.’* 
They didn’t approve of his father — you know there 
was some scandal.” 

“Yes. I often think it’s rather hard how children 
suffer for their parents’ peculiarities — it doesn’t make it 
any easier it being in the Bible.” 

“ ‘ Peculiarities ’ is good. Not that most people’s 
relations’ d be much loss,” said Claire. 

“ Perhaps not, darling ; but they are useful when 
your parents die,” Mrs. Norris returned, without irony. 

“ Cherry brandy and currant cake. . . . Yes, I suppose 
so. But think how awful if they were patronising about 
the dead person. I’m sure Clement’s would be. They’d 
behave as though he’d been handicapped by a mad 
father, but could be set right by a course of Boiurnemouth. 
. . . Mother, could I ask him to come here for a bit ? ” 

“ Certainly you could, my darling.” 

Claire tiurned to her writing, but stopped to say over 
her shoulder : 

“ I say, you remember Ivor Webb ? He’s on leave 
from France.” She expected no response ; but she had 
reckoned without that deity. Hospitality, of whom Mrs. 
Norris was a sincere though uncertain worshipper. 

“ I’ll write a note and ask him to dinner.” 

“ No ! ” said Claire. 

“ Why, dear ? Do you mean that Clement being here 
will prevent us ” 


SISTERS AND MOTHERS 19 

** Yes — I mean, no. It’s not that. I don’t want him 
to come.” 

“ Really, darling ? I thought you used to be such 
friends.” Her mother was genuinely surprised ; then 
in her ‘‘ teasing ” voice she added : Is Mr. Webb one 
of the aversions you modern girls tell us about ? ” 

Well — ^yes,” her daughter answered, taking the line 
of least resistance. 

Even so, Claddie, surely you needn’t impose your 
dislikes on others ? If Pauly wants him, surely you 
wouldn’t object ? ” 

Claire had no retort to her parent’s inopportune display 
of a sense of justice; she sat silent, marvelling at the 
unerring directness of the sprite of contrariness who 
sometimes took possession of Mrs. Norris ; the latter had 
no inkling of Pauline’s latest flirtation — ^it had only begun 
last night ; it was simply in a spirit of contradiction that 
she invoked Pauline’s name, with unconscious pertinence, 
to counter Claire’s opposition. 

“ It’s fatal to talk to mother,” thought Claire, not 
with utter injustice. 

Mrs. Norris’s inability to concentrate long on one 
subject made serious conversation very difficult. The 
indirect method of suggestion was the one most success- 
fully employed with her, and the girl wished that she 
had used it on this occasion, especially as she had no 
intention of revealing the true reason for her objection 
to Ivor Webb. She had broached the topic impulsively, 
and her mother’s unusual fit of reasonableness had foiled 
her. It now occurred to Claire that for Pauline to see 
the young man in her own home was preferable to her 
meeting him, probably in tete-d 4 ete, outside. She 
recalled Ivor’s attitude, for instance, towards the country 
— ^motoring, boating, walking ; the attitude of the actor- 
manager who undervalues no scene or accessory, but 
who regards them as of no importance on their own 
account — as of importance only as forming the right 
background, and creating the needful atmosphere foi 


20 QUIET INTERIOR 

the drama of his relationships. She therefore answered : 

If Pauline wants him here, by all means let him 
come.'* 

** That's a dear girl." Mrs. Norris rose, and going 
over to her daughter, patted her shoulder. Claire put 
up her hand to capture one of her mother’s, which she 
held to her cheek. She not only loved her, she admired 
her, as one admires a charming, fragrant, but far from 
flawless work of art — a poem by Landor, a Chopin 
nocturne. She loved to see her mother dressed for a 
dinner-party in black velvet and Brussels lace, a thin 
glinting chain of diamonds round her neck, tall, graceful, 
serene, trailing across the lamp-lit drawing-room like an 
Orchardson heroine, grown middle-aged but retaining 
her mediocre decorative quality. On those festal nights 
Claire was wont to stand abashed by the serenity and 
vague dignity of her parent, feeling like a little girl before 
the grown-ups she deems omniscient and set above tempta- 
tion and its rewards. But now, leaning her cheek against 
her mother’s hand, she felt herself both the older and the 
wiser : it was Mrs. Norris who was the child ; and it was 
Mrs. Norris who knew not trouble and the worm." 
Claire felt the weight of comparative omniscience, but 
was conscious of lacking serenity. Did every age, as it 
became the present, furnish the kicks and withhold the 
ha’pence ? Soon," she thought in mock horror, I 
shall begin to believe in ‘ happy, irresponsible, untroubled 
childhood ’ ! " 

Mother, darling," she said, " there’s twelve striking 
— papa will swear if you keep him waiting." 

'' Then it’s his wicked children who teach him to ! " 
With which retort Mrs. Norris threaded her way between 
the omnipresent furniture and faded from the room. 

The girl’s remaining task was a letter of condolence. 
Clement Parsons was her friend, and yet she found no 
words that did not seem patronising, trite and obtrusive. 
Eventually she wrote as she would have spoken, from 
her heart : 


21 


SISTERS AND MOTHERS 

Dear Clement, 

I saw the announcement in the * T imes* I f you want 
somebody y Til come to Sparrows. Or, if you feel gregarious 
now or later on, come and stay here. You can wire. Mother 
and father would like it. I exfect you've already written, 
hut don't unless you want to. Dear Clement, it is dreadful. 
You know how sorry I am. 

“ Yours ever, 

Claire.” 


CHAPTER II 
Confidence 

A YOUNG man who had just emerged from the train stood 
looking from one to the other of the people on the plat- 
form. He was counting on Claire to meet him as she 
had promised. The station bewildered him, not so much 
by its size and clangour as by the myriad details which 
it presented to his senses — ^the contact of pushing 
strangers, of trucks, of eyes ; the thud of luggage and the 
din of voices and whistles ; the smell of train-oil and 
smoke and damp dirt and leather. He was used to noting 
in leisurely sequence or in quiet harmony a flight of birds, 
the blue bloom on cabbages, the limping gait of a sheep, 
the hum of agricultural machines, the odours of manure 
and bean-fields ; and his brain could register now only 
a confused impression of warring sounds, fugitive inter- 
secting lines, obscme moving shapes and raw mixed but 
unmingled smells. . . . Then he saw Claire coming quickly 
through the thinning crowd, and, stooping, he caught up 
his two bags and went towards her. He noticed the 
change in her, due to her town clothes and her submission 
— ^until now unwitnessed by him — ^to a hat ; she carried 
gloves, too, and a purse, which gave her an unfamiHar 
look. But when he was close on her he saw the same 
Claire as ever look up at him with a hint of questioning 
in her queer dreamy brows. 

For Claire, too, there was a change in her friend. His 
blue serge clothes, it was evident, even had she not 
known it, were not those he habitually wore. With his 
perfectly unconscious picturesque calm he had an incon- 
gruous look upon the dingy agitated platform ; and the 


22 


CONFIDENCE 23 

incongruity was exceedingly pleasant to her eyes. The 
associations which were inseparable from him rose up to 
blot out the station : downs, beech-hangers, sheepcotes, 
chalkpits. Her knowledge of his circumstances, which 
were sufficiently unusual to appeal to her sense of romance, 
and of his daily life, with its implications of solidity and 
stability and peace, gave him a symbolic significance in 
her mind. He suggested to her imagination one of those 
archaic figures in stone, simple, yet subtle, touched with 
austerity and yet very human. His new loneliness now 
that the primary influence and devotion of his life was 
gone, though not apparent in his outward self, lent him 
in her eyes a new beauty and tenderness, as though rain 
ran like tears down the face of the stone figure while 
sunset gilded it. As they stood together under the vast 
grimy roofs and pillars of the station, she passed through 
an instant of exalted sentimentality ; as they turned to 
go, it faded, giving way to the normal sense of pleasure 
at seeing him again. 

They went into the tube, and emerged again into the 
fine drizzle of a November afternoon. The hour was not 
far off dusk ; a sky uniformly grey hung over the grey 
houses ; the railings dripped. 

Clement’s suit-case made a space between them so that 
Claire was able to glance at him without that sense of 
doing something intimate or important which one 
usually has when looking sideways at a person in close 
proximity. 

** I’m so glad you decided to come. Father was very 
dubious about my going to Sparrows unchaperoned,” 
she said. 

'' I nearly didn’t come. If I hadn’t left the farm now, 
I’d have stayed there for ever — ^until my king and country 
dragged me away. It’s to be put up for auction.” 

Claire was startled. ” What will you do then ? Have 
you any plans ? ” 

'' Only vague ones. . . . It may be sold first by private 
agreement. Farlow’s almost certain to buy it.” 


24 QUIET INTERIOR 

” What about the furniture ? ’’ 

I shall sell some, and store the rest. It’s queer to be 
at a loose end.” 

Queer,” she echoed, adding to herself : but I can’t 
know how queer.” 

I had a letter from Aunt Julia asking me to make my 
* home ’ with them. It was rather decent of her, wasn’t 
it ? ” 

“ Where’s that ? ” 

Pur ley, wherever that is. It’s a name one knows, 
but I don’t place it.” 

“ Pur ley ? Oh dear ! ” 

Clement smiled : '' Is it as bad as that, you cockney ? 
I do think it was nice of the old girl. Father ” — ^he 
uttered the word with the shadow of a hesitation — 
** wasn’t very soothing to her and Uncle Fred when they 
came to see us.” 

Oh? ” 

“No. They rolled up in a Ford like a young Eiffel 
Tower. One of our Jerseys had just calved and father 
wouldn’t talk about anything else. Uncle Fred must be 
rather squeamish — anyway. Aunt Julia tried to head 
father off by asking to see his famous ‘ library ’ ” — Clement 
paused to grin reminiscently. 

“ Well ? ” Claire prompted. 

“ He stared at the old boy, who was muffled up in 
several layers of coats, and said : * Yes, brother-in-law, 
you look as if a course of Rabelais would do you a world 
of good ! ’ He said ‘ look ’ as if he was giving Uncle 
Fred the benefit of the doubt.” 

“ I suppose you’ll have to go and see them ? ” said 
Claire, after they had smiled in concert. 

“ Oh.” The idea had evidently not occurred to 
Clement. “ Shall I ? ” 

“ This is our street,” she returned, “ and ” — a moment 
later — “ this is our house.” 

Upon the threshold, Clement surprised her by asking 
if he would “ have to see them all at once.” He knew 


CONFIDENCE 25 

her family pretty well, and had never before betrayed 
shyness or nervousness. I like being alone with you, 
so that I can talk,'’ he explained. Claire’s pity welled 
up ; her heart leapt out to him as they went silently 
across the hall ; she felt awkward, too, as youth does 
before a grief it has not experienced. I know nothing,” 
she accused herself. In spite of the feeling, which she 
had in common with most girls concerning most boys, 
that she was much the older and wiser, Clement's spirit, 
familiar with loss, seemed to tower above her. 

Knowing that probably Mrs. Norris was in the back 
drawing-room, she directed tea to be sent up to the 
“ schoolroom,” on the same floor as the girls' bedrooms, 
and where she and Clement could talk undisturbed. 
She showed him his room, and having taken off her 
things, crossed the landing and leant over the stairs to 
call him, but the thought of him isolated and alone in 
the room below checked her — she had a sudden recognition 
of his individuality, not unlike the startling recognition 
of one’s own identity which occasionally occurs on looking 
in the mirror. ” Why, that’s me ! ” one silently exclaims, 
and Why, that’s Clement ! ” might have expressed 
Claire’s sensation now. Within that chamber was a body 
like to and yet different from hers, containing a spirit, a 
self unknown, for ever unknowable, mysterious and alien. 
She had her private vision of him as one who would work 
steadily and clear-sightedly, acquiring new wisdom, 
becoming, perhaps, even famous in his own compass as 
a farmer ; with a mind alive to new thoughts, with a 
heart rooted in the soil ; she had pictured him torn from 
his chosen way of life by the war, swallowed by the army 
— detestable machine — made the fellow of a million 
dullards and dilettantes; she had mourned in advance 
over the probability that what was rare in him — per- 
severance, insight, tolerance and fair mindedness — would 
be lost to the world, as his freedom would be lost to him. 
And now she realised suddenly the inviolability of the 
human soul. She had endowed him with qualities as a 


26 QUIET INTERIOR 

child endows a doll with the evil tendencies for which she 
slaps it ; and just as, perhaps, the puppet of wire and wax 
vibrates with an atomic but intense vitality , too small 
for the child to see, so Clement existed, apart from all she 
thought of him, moving, as the result of a million million 
hidden causes, towards a destiny unknown to any. If 
only I were God,” she said, I'd know it all. I’d know 
what would happen to him every instant of his life, and 
afterwards too.” 

Presently Clement joined her and they went into the 
schoolroom. This was a bleak sea-green box, containing 
Pauline’s funereal ’cello case, and an old piano with a 
fretwork and blue-silk front. The hearth was insignifi- 
cant. On a corner shelf stood two rows of children’s 
books that no one was ruthless enough to throw away. 
The newly-lit fire and Clement’s presence gave it a new 
look, but did not destroy its bleakness. Claire sat tiurned 
from the fire, to watch him prowl round the room, examin- 
ing books and pictures. He opened the genteel piano, 
and softly, clumsily, struck a few notes. 

“ It’s no use hitting middle G,” she said, it’s not 
uttered a word for years. And one of the thin D’s 
is still sticky where Hilary dropped golden syrup on 
it.” 

” Thin ? ” 

” Treble. Fat is bass.” 

'' Did you all learn on this ? I wish I had. It was a 
queer kink in father.” 

” I never learnt, though I was taught for a long time. 
Hilary and Pauline were swanks at it. They used to play 
Peer Gynt with yards of temperament. The only thing 
that made practising bearable was having the candles 
lit — on winter afternoons, you know — like this. It wasn’t 
allowed really. Once I set The Merry Peasant on fire.” 
She smiled, seeing, like a picture, the old warm Leicester 
nursery, rich with gaslight and firelight and illicitly 
lighted candles. 

Clement closed the lid with a snap. He, too, was 


CONFIDENCE 27 

remembering. Father hated music. It was queer, 
when you think of how many things he included, to cut 
out music. Some chaps think it’s one of the most im- 
portant things in education. . . . His pet aversions were 
bagpipes and singing.” 

‘‘ I don’t call bagpipes music, I call them an insult. 
Why not hire a banshee at once ? But it’s odd to hate 
singing — although, when you come to think of it, most 
singing is nauseating.” 

Father used to say that it was the most flagrant 
exhibition of sex allowed in public.” 

I love tunes,” said Claire, when she had mentally 
compared ballad-concerts and music-hall exhibitions of 
physique, and I love rhythm. But I can’t understand 
how they’re glued together — I mean form in music is 
absolute Greek to me. I know very little about pictures, 
but still, I do believe I know when a picture is well 
painted, or well composed, or both. But if you played 
things to me off hand, I could no more say which was 
good. ... I like proms ; I like Bach, and the Ninth and 
the Fifth, and I know I adore some Debussy and some 
Ravel ; but, honestly, you know, what I enjoy at proms 
is not the music only — ^though it is the music. It’s — 
well — if I’m standing, I enjoy it because I’m standing 
down there with a whole crowd of people who love 
music ; and I think : I must love it too, to stand all 
this while. I love the people, and feeling free and easy, 
and scrimmaging for coffee and burning my mouth and 
smoking and indulging my hatred of the conductor. 
And if I’m upstairs, I love to look over and see the 
smoky lake, just like an aquarium. ... I think the 
very nicest way is just in a room with very few 
people.” 

Will Pauline play to-night ? ” 

Were you looking at the ‘ Sarcophagus ’ ? She 
scarcely ever does now. I accompany so badly. I say, 
Clement, shall you mind seeing people while you’re 
here ? ” She paused, with raised cup, to ask him ; and 


28 QUIET INTERIOR 

before answering with a shake of the head and a half- 
smile, he stared at the fire ; so that she questioned his 
profile. He was now leaning back in the deep creaking 
basket-chair with the symmetrical ease of the manual 
worker who knows how perfectly to rest each muscle — 
a strongly-built young man, of medium colouring, whose 
eyes looked dark, but were grey, not brown, and whose 
clear, evenly tanned skin, rather tightly stretched at 
the temples and jaws, gave a look of fine simplicity 
to a face whose modelling was, for the rest, as bold and 
careless as the charcoal sketch for a portrait by a great 
painter. 

I don’t know where I am with people,” he said, ” I 
don’t feel at ease with most of ’em. You’re different, of 
course. Till you came to Sparrows, I hardly saw anyone 
except the Farlows and sometimes the Briggses. Father 
and I used to play chess in the evenings, or he used to read 
to me — plays mostly. It all seems like a dream now.” 
He leaned forward, arms on knees, and stared at the 
fire. Claire rose gently, and put out the middle light, 
leaving only a hand lamp on the mantelpiece. 

” It was awfully queer,” he went on, ” though of course 
I took it all as a matter of course then. I knew as soon 
as I got big that father was a crank, but I don’t think he 
was half as odd as my mother — ^though I bet everybody 
thought her quite ordinary. It seems to be only if you 
talk about your ideas that people notice you’re different 
from them.” 

” Or if you look outrageous.” 

” Mother neither talked nor looked outrageous.” 
Clement turned his face to his companion’s, as though 
she set a standard by consulting which he could judge 
his mother more easily. ” I told you before, she died 
before I was twelve ? ” 

Claire nodded, and, turning again to the fire, he went 
on : 

” We lived at Basingstoke then — from the time I was 
born, till she died. You knew father and she came away 


CONFIDENCE 29 

from Leicestershire ? Her husband was a parson there. 
It’s funny, isn’t it, that you and I come from the same 
county ? Though mother was from Essex.” 

My mother came from Gloucestershire ; so it’s our 
papas who are Midlanders. What made them go to 
Basingstoke ? ” 

‘‘ Father had heard of a small holding for sale there. 
We lived in what I suppose was a hideous house, small 
and rather high and flat -looking, whitewashed.” 

I know,” said Claire, one of those albino houses 
with no eye-brows to speak of.” 

“ Yes. Mother got hold of her old nurse — ^though she 
wasn’t so very old — and she was more or less general 
servant. She had her meals with us.’' 

There was a long pause ; the stream of reminiscences 
seemed to have been checked. Cinders tinkled in the 
grate ; the basket-chair creaked. At last the girl 
prompted him. 

Tell me about your mother.” 

'' I did lessons with her — ^the ordinary kind. I did 
Latin and history and geography after tea with father. 
In the afternoons father and I went out together. I used 
always to bang the front door — I can remember fearfully 
well how ripping it was to get out. Once father said, 

* Must you bang it ? Italics are odious.’ I’d no notion 
what he meant then, but I was rather ashamed of myself ; 
and now I think I see what he meant.” 

'' Had yom: mother any friends ? Wasn’t she lonely ? ” 

I expect she was. Nobody came near us. It had 
got about, like things do, that father and she had run 
away, and mother wasn’t divorced.” 

“ I wonder what she did all day ? ” 

“ Oh, she talked to nurse and sewed and read. She 
darned so that you couldn’t see it. You know I had to 
learn to sew ? It was one of father’s ideas, like being 
able to use both hands. Perhaps you didn’t know that 
I could write with my left hand ? ’' 

No, I didn’t ! ” But Claire’s interest and curiosity 


30 QUIET INTERIOR 

were not to be diverted. '' How did she gee in with his 
ideas ? You say she was queer, but I don’t see how. I 
think she sounds pathetic.” 

I don’t think so. You know those fair Essex 
people ? ” 

Oh, she was that kind ! You never said so. Now 
I see. No, she couldn’t be pathetic : still, I feel sorry for 
her.” 

''I do, too, now. And for father, too. They must 
have been madly in love — or anyway, he must, and then 
it went off.” 

“ Dreadful ! ” murmured Claire, with a slight shudder. 

'' I’ll tell you why she was odd. Once a week father 
used to go to supper with a Catholic priest he knew. I 
believe sometimes they argued all night. Mother hated 
him. On those nights it was fearfully queer. The rest 
of the week seemed ordinary to me then, though I knew 
we weren’t like other people. I thought it was rotten 
not going to school. Besides, though father and mother 
scarcely spoke to each other in the day-time, I used to 
hear them jawing away at nights. . . . Where had I got 
to ? Oh yes, nurse was Scotch ” 

'' They always are. I suppose she was proprietary 
about ghosts.” 

Yes. When father was out she and mother would 
bring out Blanchette and sit with their eyes shut ; and I 
used to be given a pencil and paper and write down what 
the beastly thing said. I used to think nurse cheated 
and looked, so that she could guide it — but I’m sure 
mother swallowed it all like gospel.” 

Was it fun ? ” 

“ I liked it rather — and yet I dreaded it. I knew 
father would be angry if he found out. At about half- 
past nine, nurse used to say primly, * Time Clem was in 
bed ’ — my ordinary time was eight — and mother had to 
stop, though she didn’t want to.” 

“ You’ve not told me yet what she was like, besides 
being fair and broad, I mean.” 


CONFIDENCE 31 

'' She was short, and had very thick smooth fair hair 
— like corn, you know, but not when it’s reddish ; between 
that and when it’s greenish. She used to stare a lot, in 
between reading and sewing. She loved to be coddled, 
and sometimes nurse kept her in bed for breakfast, and 
took her Bovril and bottles and all that, and if father 
found out he was fearfully fed up. Once, not very long 
before she died, he caught nurse slobbering over her and 
talking about paradise, and he threatened to turn her out 
of the house. ... I was eavesdropping in the passage. 
But mother simply said * No, David,’ and he stopped.” 

Bending even nearer the fire Clement took up the poker 
and raked out the ashes gently. Claire wondered if this 
was the end of his unprecedented fit of communicative- 
ness. 

You remind me of him,” she said, recalling the proud 
figure of David Parsons, taller, bulkier than his son, and 
with quicker eyes and a more lively manner. Clement’s 
reply smrprised and touched her. “ I believe I can 
remember everything he ever said.” Then, as though 
to modify a boast, he turned to her, and they looked at 
each other steadily and in silence for a few seconds. 
Presently he pursued : ” I thought at first I couldn’t 
possibly leave the farm ; and then I saw I couldn’t 
possibly stay. Apart from the war, and anything else, 
it would have made everyday life a sort of — I can’t 
explain it. I couldn’t move an inch without remember- 
ing how he looked or did things or talked. It would have 
dragged me back — do you understand what I mean ? 
I suppose I could have got used to it ; but it seems 
better to break away and do what girls in books always 
do — * lead my own life.’ If there wasn’t the war, I’d 
travel.” 

Claire had a vision of illimitable plains, peaks and 
jungles, with Clement, a kind of modern palmer, staff 
in hand, a small black figure in a landscape. She 
smiled at herself for this fanciful conception of one 
who was by upbringing an agnostic and by nature a 


32 QUIET INTERIOR 

countryman — shepherd or mountaineer — ^rather than a 
pilgrim. 

“ Yes, journeys,’' she said, half to herself ; but one 
word repeated twice or thrice in his talk echoed ominously 
in her ears, and she asked him, controlling a catch in her 
breath : ** Do you mean to attest ? ” 

I suppose so.” His affirmative had an accent of 
inquiry. “ What do you say ? On the lowest grounds, 
it’d be better to enlist before they bring in a Conscription 
Bill.” 

Yes.” Claire’s brain was empty of thoughts. Her 
heart beat war, war,” like a tedious clock. She could 
not deny Clement’s statement, but it seemed beside the 
point. 

“ Up till now,” he went on, I’ve been on the land. 
Now I’m not. Doesn’t it make all the difference ? It 
strikes me as fairly obvious what I ought to do.” He 
looked questioningly at her, gravely, not plaintively. It 
was not doubt that she read in his eyes, heard in his 
voice, it was a friend asking for friendship’s '' God- 
speed.” 

Claire made an effort to meet the discussion on the 
level of expediency. ” Yes, I suppose it is,” she said, 

and if that’s what you feel, you must — of course you 
must join. There’s no tenable half-way ” 

” Between what ? ” 

” Between knowing that you ought to go, and knowing 
that you can’t and won’t go.” 

” Can’t and won’t kill, you mean ? But, I say, Claire, 
a chap might bar killing a German, but he would defend 
himself — anyone would ; and I don’t see any real differ- 
ence between defending your own skin and defending 
your country, and those who can’t fight.” 

” It goes further back than one can go,” she answered, 
feeling for words to express the vague conceptions of her 
mind. ” To begin with : is it defence ? Isn’t it offence ? 
Oh, I know all about Belgium and France ; but that 
alliance is surely just as artificial as any alliance ; or 


CONFIDENCE 33 

rather not any more intrinsically real than an alliancd 
between us and Germany would be. But what’s the good 
of going into all that ? ” 

She was conscious of cowardice : because '' all that ” 
was to the point, whereas a discussion of a young man’s 
personal obligation to fight seemed not to be ; but she 
was too ignorant and her opinions too nebulous for a 
serious argument to be possible, and if Clement wished to 
discuss his personal obligation she, as his friend, was 
bound to do so, bound in loyalty neither to shirk it for 
its painful implications, nor to minimise its importance. 
So she added with deliberation : “I absolutely sym- 
pathise with any man who goes, and any woman who 
wants to go ; because it is beastly to let other people do 
the job and be killed for one. So unless you’re definitely 
a pacifist, it is right to go, sooner or later. And, as you 
say, in view of conscription, preferably sooner.” 

” I don’t pretend to know how much England’s to 
blame,” he answered, harking back, ” but it’s clear to 
me that now we are involved, it’s everybody’s business.” 

Or everybody’s business to try and stop it,” Claire 
murmured ; ” only, of course, most of them think they 
are all right and Germany all wrong. I wish only these 
beastly jingoes and imperialists had to go, and all these 
old fire-eaters in clubs.” 

Silence fell again, and she was aware of Clement’s 
retreat into the past once more. The fire had fallen into 
a red blaze. Beyond the circle of light shed by the small 
lamp lay the dusky corners of the room, the old piano, 
the old books, the rarely opened ’cello case, and despite 
the glow and the warmth Claire felt a sudden shiver of 
apprehension, as though these inanimate objects were 
hostile ; she had shuddered. Was it merely the goose and 
the grave, or something more — a premonition ? She 
seemed to have recognised this room as the scene of some 
future sorrow, as one recognises the scene of a forgotten 
childhood’s grief. She stared at her companion’s profile, 
as though through him she might pierce the veil that 


34 QUIET INTERIOR 

hangs between each moment and the next. Only because 
of the imperfections of that instrument, memory, are we 
remoter, mentally, from our childhood than from the 
hour just gone by. The instrument of foresight or clair- 
voyance which only very few are conscious of possessing, 
were it even as imperfect as memory and even as clumsily 
and instinctively used, would make the imminent hour 
plain to us, and this and that hour in the future more or 
less clear. . . Then Claire’s concentration on these 
thoughts slackened, melted, was transformed into a 
sensation of happiness and ease ; and Clement, as though 
they had been in some subtler communion than before, 
sat up and said : 

“ I don’t know why you said this room was dreary, 
Claire ? I thought so, too ; but now I like it. ... I like 
your house. I was quite right to leave Sparrows Farm ; 
now I’m away I can begin again.” 

And indeed, it did seem as though the current of his 
narrative had carried away some of the bitterness of his 
grief — a bitterness so foreign to his affectionate but well- 
poised nature, that it had to be, as it were, secreted by 
some natural process : it could not ^stay in his system to 
corrode it. His heart was a little eased ; his companion- 
ship with Claire dispelled the dreadful unaccustomed 
feeling of loneliness which had succeeded his realisation 
of Mr. Parsons’s death. 

” You must take me over the house, to-morrow,” he 
said. I like to nose about like a dog.” 

Turn about three times at least ? All right, you 
shall.” 

Do you know, when it came to leaving, the worst 
thing was leaving Bond.” Bond was his sheepdog. 

Oh ! ” cried Claire impulsively, '' couldn’t you have 
brought him with you ? ” 

” To London ? No.” He shook his head mournfully. 

I had him shot.” 

Staring into the fire, their two separate trains of thought 
went in smoke, mingled, up the chimney, out into the 


CONFIDENCE 35 

dark lake of air that stirred imperceptibly against the 
house-tops. The rain had ceased ; a few stars were 
shining. Later, when they had left the room, some 
atmospheric change set the tides of air swinging a little, 
until a steady wind got up and drove London’s pall of 
smoke one way all the night long. 


CHAPTER III 
Family Life 

The Norrises’ large dining-room was formal, but simple and 
not heavy, though rather too many William Morris 
designs were present in it ; floral parterres on the walls, 
canaries and Tudor roses on the curtains, vague ocean- 
shapes upon the carpets — ^large pale shells and indeter- 
minate dolphins. Opposite the windows hung a portrait 
of Mrs. Norris in the Rosetti manner, with the fullness of 
her throat, the pallor of her face, the blackness of her 
hair much exaggerated, and over the hearth a bad full- 
size copy of Ford Madox Brown’s Work, executed by 
a poor and remote relation to whom the Norrises had 
been consistently kind, until, with base ingratitude, she 
married the scion of a noble house, became “ county,” 
and wrote them patronising letters. The picture was 
known as ” Millie’s Work ” — an adapted version of its 
earlier title “ Poor Millie’s Worky The girls regarded 
it with a tolerant scornful affection. 

The room’s spaciousness was enhanced by the gracious 
dignity of the Georgian street outside. It was the 
antithesis of the immemorial London dining-room of 
heavy crimson and mahogany, studies of still life, and 
dark leather ; it was provincial and charmingly out of 
date. 

For a sensitive visitor the Norris breakfast was an 
ordeal. Mr. Norris, always the first down, watched over 
a double barrier of eye-glasses and paper, the arrival of 
his guest, wife and children. With the nonchalance of 
habit, his daughters placed their cheeks against his, and 
saluted the air. Next he referred to the presence or 
36 


FAMILY LIFE 37 

absence of letters by their plates. If either of them was 
imusually late his eyes descended, as it were, upon the 
inner side of the barrier to consult his watch. Claire 
and Pauline had an unspoken agreement to ignore this 
silent criticism and the remarks about their correspond- 
ence. The atmosphere was easy, but not genial ; easy 
with indifference, and not with complete confidence ; for 
though the latter existed between husband and wife, it 
did not between parents and children, and whereas its 
absence was accepted contentedly and unquestioningly 
by the mother, the father fretted secretly against it. He 
had often longed for sons to enter his business, and he 
still sometimes wanted them to discuss his political 
ambitions and his chances as a candidate. There was 
irony in the fact of his aversion to his adopted daughter 
Hilary, for of his children she it was who could best have 
taken the place of a son to him. 

When Clement entered the dining-room, he found his 
host already slitting envelopes and dropping them into 
the basket by his chair. 

'' Did you sleep well ? Did you have a good bath ? '' 

“ Yes, thanks,” the young man answered. 

** It’s a good bathroom, eh ? I had all those gimcracks 
put in new the other day.” 

Clement reflected briefly on the complicated array of 
taps, which caused jets of water to assault you in unex- 
pected quarters. ‘‘ It’s a splendid bathroom,” he said. 
‘‘ You’re a nice old chap, too,” he added to himself, for 
to the young man Tom Norris appeared old, although 
he was not sixty, and had exquisitely irregular false 
teeth. His hair, once fair, was blanched and thick above 
a ruddy short face ; his small wide opened blue eyes were 
both shrewd and candid, they betrayed the limits of his 
mind, not, as some eyes do, the vistas. He wore morning 
dress ; a stand-up collar with a dark folded cravat and 
a pearl pin ; the points of the collar, instead of being 
turned back, irritated his chin. A very fine chain of 
alternate gold and platinum links showed discreetly on 


38 QUIET INTERIOR 

his stomach ; he wore a wedding, but not a signet ring 
on his short-fingered hands. He was short — stocky — 
and successful looking ; but something, perhaps his eyes, 
suggested that his success was due to power of concentra- 
tion, not to wide understanding nor to passion, that he 
employed foresight but not imagination, that he used the 
moment for his purpose, and cast it by without thought 
for its eternal significance. Work was his pleasure 
(though this he never admitted in the presence of a 
woman) but pleasure in the accepted sense he kept 
strictly separate from business, as also religion, sentiment, 
natural generosity and abstract principles of morality. 
He openly accused those who dovetailed the two depart- 
ments of life of softness and crankism. He belonged to 
the old-fashioned class of employers who had not yet 
recognised the sound business reasons for paying 
employees a living wage. 

That such his host was, Clement only dimly and 
fragment ally perceived ; the young man had not the art 
of deliberately judging character : he “ sized people up 
chiefly by means of intuition ; the powers of observation 
highly-trained in regard to live-stock, birds, weather- 
signals and the state of the soil did not come into play 
when he was face to face with his own kind. Nor did he 
express to himself the things he did perceive ; he had not 
the habit of giving thoughts the form of words, which 
crystallises and sometimes mutilates them. He had 
played chiefly the role of listener, so far, to a talkative 
father. His opinions had inevitably been coloured 
rather by the convictions of that vivid personality 
which had hitherto ruled his life ; and, one of these 
convictions being that sound business capacity was 
a synonym for, at worst, dishonesty in trade relations, 
and at best, a tendency to crooked thinking and 
crooked dealing, Clement had a slight prejudice against 
business men. This prejudice was, however, so slight 
as to be almost inoperative ; his natural fairmindedness 
always counteracted it at the critical moment, and he 


FAMILY LIFE 39 

judged Mr. Norris, as he did every one he met, on his own 
merits, and found him a nice old boy.’' He had, 
besides, a real respect for the very thing that would have 
made the nice old boy a suspect character to old Mr. 
Parsons : the proved ability to control hundreds of 
workers and thousands of pounds. He, Clement, could 
not even control a flock of sheep without Bond’s help. 

What are the plans for to-day ? ” Mr. Norris asked, 
with a skilful mingling of disapproval and friendliness ; 
he tacitly criticised all youth’s pleasures, but he remained 
polite. 

** I don’t know that there are any,” replied Clement. 

His host grunted : “I thought ... it seemed to me 
there was — ^wasn’t there some talk of a party ? ” 

I don’t think there was for to-day,” Clement answered, 
feeling first apologetic, and then — as there was no reason 
for apology — slightly resentful ; it’s a party for later 
on, perhaps,” he added. 

‘ Sufficient unto the day,’ ” his host quoted, pleasantly 
grim. We don’t know what to-morrow will bring 
forth,” he went on, vaguely Biblical in tone, "'now we’re 
struggling with these devils.” He used the epithet with 
a naive air of being licentious. ” And I tell you, if we 
haven’t beaten them by this time next year, we shall be 
eating the herbs of the field, hke Nebuchadnezzar.” 

Clement was not accustomed to war small-talk. To 
say something, he answered : ” I know fodder’s going to 
be short.” 

I was as hopeful as anybody, I dare say, during the 
first few months,” the older man pursued, ” but I can 
see now we’re in for a two years’ fight at least.” 

Claire entered ; she looked with quick inquiry from 
the younger to the older man, and then asked after the 
latter’s cough. His reply was, There’s a letter for 
you, Claddie.” 

She went without answering to the coffee pot, and 
made some trivial remark to Clement. Then dutifully : 
** Is it the Blind Officers to-day, father ? ” 


40 QUIET INTERIOR 

“Yes. And then — and the Belgians." 

“ Not on approval for us ? " She paused in her action 
to catch the answer in his face, and, seeing Clement’s 
grin at her anxious tone, she added : “ Never again, I 
trust I " 

“ Somebody’s got to have them,’’ Mr. Norris retorted. 

“ Poor things.’’ She did not make it clear which party 
she pitied. Probably both, Clement thought. 

“ But why be like that ? ’’ she pursued, “dirty and 
lazy and ungrateful ? ’’ 

“ That’s what — ^that’s just what the working-class in 

Eng ’’ Mr. Norris suddenly realised that this was a 

pre-war sentiment : the “ working-class man " had now 
become “ our lads at the Front,’’ and must not be 
traduced. “ England,’’ he amended with pleased 
solemnity, “ England’s always stood up for small nations. 
We went in to revenge Belgium. Now we’re — defend- 
ing — ^we’re fighting for liberty and permanent peace.’’ 

“Oh!" said Claire softly, with downcast eyes, and 
looking rather miserable, “ but then . . , Ireland ’’ 

“ Don’t — I’ll trouble you, Claddie dear, not to bring 
those ideas to this table.’’ He went on cutting bread 
with imperturbable amiability in his little red face. “ I 
can’t prevent you having friends with — ^we’U say, ac- 
quaintances, with wicked and foolish notions, but don’t 
air them here.’’ 

Clement felt embarrassed, in spite of the complete 
absence of anger in his host’s voice, or of distress in 
Claire’s face. Indeed, she was smiling : her father’s phrase 
had conjured up a vision of “ unmentionable ’’ feminine 
garments hung up to air in the dining-room. 

“ They’re wrong notions and foolish,’’ repeated Mr. 
Norris, as though blaming not his daughter, but those 
who led her astray. “ When we’ve crushed ’em — ^the 
Huns — ^then will be the time to — ^to discuss it. They 
must be crushed.’’ He munched stolidly ; his little open 
blue eyes shone, where he sat opposite the light. 

A look of disgust had passed quickly across Claire’s 


FAMILY LIFE 


41 

face at his words, but after an instant she smiled at her 
friend and said : ** Father’s dreadfully bloodthirsty ! ” 

** Well, I’m English.” As the older man uttered this, 
his wife came trailing into the room, and said : ** English, 
dear ? Of course. Good morning, Clement. Well, 
darling — who says you aren’t English, Tom ? ” 

She sat down at the window end of the table, and began 
to press food on each of the others in turn. Ring for 
some more hot milk, darling,” she told Claire. 

** But there’s another jug on the sluggard, mother 
dear.” 

I’m going to the Depot this morning, Claire,” the 
lady went on, but looking at the young man, “ so you 
and Pauline must look after Clement.” 

“ Of course, mother.” 

** I shall be quite all right,” said he, flushing a little at 
this formality. 

** Here’s a letter from Hilary,” Mrs. Norris announced, 
looking at the thin envelope in her hand without opening 
it. 

“ Oh, how is she ? ” the young man asked, realising 
that he had omitted to ask after the absent member of 
the family. 

She’s reported to be coming home,” Claire answered, 
as though quoting a newspaper paragraph. ** But 
Hilary’s movements rather come in bursts. I mean, 
she’ll decide suddenly to come home and then come.” 

If she can get here,” Tom Norris amended grimly. 
He much preferred his own daughters, Claire and Pauline, 
to his adopted daughter, although he was punctiliously 
impartial in his superficial treatment of all three ; his 
pride and elementary sense of justice demanded that. 
He would never for a moment forget what Mrs. Norris 
had apparently forgotten long ago— that Hilary was not 
the child of his body. His wife’s diffused, stable, mild 
light of love was shed equally on the three girls ; but 
his clannish blood-is-thicker-than-water secret paternal 
passion distinguished perpetually between Claddie and 


42 QUIET INTERIOR 

Pauly, who were his, and Hilary Monk, his wife’s orphan 
niece, who was Miss Norris ” by courtesy alone. Out- 
wardly, he had met Hilary’s proposal to go to India with 
some friends of her real father’s with hostility, apparently 
on the grounds that it clashed with her intention of going 
to College, a scheme to which she had just received his 
grudging consent ; but inwardly her plan of travel was 
applauded by him as eminently suitable, and his opposi- 
tion was mere conventionality. Her departure was a 
relief ; the imminence of her return after three years was 
disquieting. 

■ After several false starts, Mrs. Norris began to read her 
letter. * It is horribly cold here ... I don’t like 
Petrograd as much as Moscow . . . Although it is the 
most wonderful town . . . Lady Georgina . . . ’ ” 

“ Is there anything about her coming back, mother ? ” 

'' No-o. M’m. Lady Georgina comes herself to the 
hospital, Hilary says, Tom.” 

Well, that won’t hurt her,” said Claire. 

“ Now Claddie, now Claddie, don’t interrupt your 
mother.” 

** ' Perhaps . . . m’m ... I shall be back in April. 
It would be delicious to be in England for the spring. 
Think! I’ve hardly seen Sparrows, — Isn’t that strange, 
Tom — I’d never thought of it. Claddie, did you 
realise . . . ? ” 

''No, I don’t think I did. Of course, we’d only just 
taken it — ^no, I don’t believe we’d even decided. D’you 
remember, you and I went down for the day ; and then 
father and you and I went down again ? Just after we’d 
signed the lease for this.” 

Mr Norris blew his nose ; his silence was a trifle marked. 

" Have some jam — do, Clement. It’s delicious plum 
jam,” said Mrs. Norris, dropping the letter to the floor, 
from which Claire rescued it. 

" I’ve got treacle, thanks awfully.” 

" Tom, dear, won’t you try some of this plum jam ? 
Aunt Connie sent it to us.” 


FAMILY LIFE 43 

I’ve finished, dear,” her husband answered, coming 
round to pat her shoulder. With a gesture like Claire’s 
she captured his hand with hers. ” I shan’t be in to 
lunch,” he went on. ” If I’ve time, I shall go to the 
Red Cross Sale at Christie’s. Ah, here’s Pauly. Good 
morning to your nightcap.” 

Good morning,” said Pauline to nobody in particular. 

With his unsmiling jocularity her father said : ” Only 
one letter to-day out of the whole crew, Pauly.” 

When he had gone, there was a perceptible easing of 
the atmosphere. 

” How’s the war ? ” Mrs. Norris inquired politely, 
and did not listen while Clement read out the head-lines. 
When he had finished, and she had put down the coffee- 
pot which had kept her busy, she nodded at him wisely 
and vaguely with an expression of complete trust, as 
though he were an evangelist. Her unquestioning faith 
in male wisdom was as much a joke with her daughters 
as was her dreaminess. 

Meanwhile Pauline, having read her letter, tossed it 
over to Claire with a slight grimace. Clement noticed 
with the tail of his eye the poise of her figure, the graceful 
jerk of her hand as she sent the sheet accurately into 
Claire’s plate ; there was nothing inconclusive or blurred 
about her least actions ; they had the unconscious grace 
and cleanness that one sees in trained athletes. Her 
perfect health and poise affected Clement pleasantly ; 
it was complementary, not essential to her prettiness, 
which was compact of clear colouring and well pro- 
portioned features ; together, grace and prettiness made 
something very like beauty — what would, at all events, 
generally pass for beauty. Claire had her sister’s poise 
but not her length of limb ; her restraint of feature with 
added fineness and individuality — but not her colour. 
Clement deliberately compared the two girls : he was 
going to take people in now he was in London ! But the 
comparison had no implications — no significance for him 
beyond its superficial interest. He was not in love with 


44 QUIET INTERIOR 

either. In one he had complete confidence : in the 
other the completest indifference towards him was plain : 
that was how their relationship to himself struck him. 

Pauline moved softly humming about the room, holding 
her cup. When Clement turned from opening the door 
for Mrs. Norris he saw her smiling secretly to herself, 
standing behind her sister’s chair. Claire handed up the 
letter, without raising her eyes above their ordinary 
level. “ Thanks,” she said. Pauline put down her 
cup, and lit a cigarette. Clement caught himself looking 
for a repetition of the smile ; he hadn’t quite got the hang 
of it ; it was something rather odd and jolly in the way 
of smiles. He sat down in Pauhne’s own place, opposite 
her, where she stood behind Claire, blowing smoke through 
her nostrils, with narrowed eyes and lifted chin. Claire 
munched silently. Presently Pauline dropped her chin, 
and said : ” Well ! ” He noticed her wide-open grey 
eyes — ^Tom Norris’s — ^fringed with thick short Ughtish- 
brown lashes, the colour of her hair — only that had 
brighter specks in it. 

” Well what ? ” said Claire. 

What about it ? ” said Pauline in a challenging tone, 
rustling the letter. 

But her sister refused to take up the challenge. She 
temporised with a question : Why ' dear goose ’ ? ” 

** Can’t think. Must I account for Ivor’s little 
decorations ? Claire, you and your whys ! ” 

'' Did you write to him ? ” 

“ Bright girl. Three times, if you want to know. 
Perhaps I said something gooseish : I don’t remember. 
It can be dear dados of processing geese for all I care.” 

Three times in three weeks ? Rather a lot for 
you.” 

“ Eighteen days to be accurate.” 

Claire apparently had no reply to this. She rose, and 
saying to the young man : Come up when you’ve had 

a pipe. Cigarettes are allowed in the back drawing-room, 
but not pipes,” left the room. 


FAMILY LIFE 45 

Pauline fidgeted, but not because of him, he knew. He 
was non-existent as far as she was concerned ; and yet 
somehow he liked being there, to see her walk the length 
of the room to glance out of the window, and back to 
flick her ash into the grate. He had never craved 
attention ; and to be ignored now was no more irksome 
than to be ignored by the lambs at pasture or the hawk 
in the air. He loved to see the hawk’s quiver and swoop, 
and the lamb’s uncertain runs and jerks this way and 
that, or their patient following of their dams. As he 
sat motionless on the hill the living things ignored him ; 
thus did Pauline Norris. Only once had she taken direct 
cognisance of him when, at Sparrows, an expected youth 
had failed her ; she lacked a gallant for a whole week-end, 
the drop-scene of downland and orchard was vacant and 
meaningless for her, lacking the persons of the delicate 
comedy of flirtation. Columbine glanced round for 
Harlequin’s understudy ; the stage manager was fairly 
on the spot — she perceived Clement Parsons. He was 
adopted as her cavalier for a Saturday picnic and Sunday 
tennis. Faintly amused, he had played the part as well 
as he was able, but that was not very well. He had not 
the Londoner’s art of repartee and innuendo, and he was 
not in love with the heroine. On the Monday his figure 
once more retreated into the middle distance. 

As he watched her now he recognised how she fitted 
London, this house, even this patterned old-fashioned 
room, better than even the shaven lawn in front of 
Sparrows — far better than the farm-yard and hollyhock 
walks of Sparrows Farm, his old home. Yes, in spite of 
her living health and radiance and long limbs, she was 
a town-girl ; she had the town-girl’s — ^what was it ? — 
complacency ? no, self-possession. She was sophisti- 
cated. Her very restlessness this morning was part of 
the intermittent toot of taxi-cabs, the hum of West- 
minster traffic. Her dress was the sophisticated morning 
dress of the town-bred. Clement, exaggerating for his 
own amusement the girl’s characteristics, exaggerated 


46 QUIET INTERIOR 

too, his own. He liked to think of himself as a bumpkin, 
a lout : ‘‘ oaf ” was Claire’s word. 

Am I an oaf ? ” he suddenly asked her, smiling across 
the room. 

Pauline paused in her pacing with a light look of 
surprise. Oaf ? Well, no : not too dreadfully oafish,” 
she answered, her preoccupation suddenly vanished. 
” Why, whose been accusing you of it ? Claire ? 
Father ? — father’s too spry for words at brekker. But 
still, he’s a polite old soul. No, it must have been 
Claddie. Abominable ! An ' oaf ’ ? Oh, no, believe me, 

Clement, take it from me, kid: ” she waved her letter 

at him as she reached the door, opened it, and was gone. 

Left with an impression of idle good-humoured vivacity, 
the young man sat, smoking and in meditation. Since 
his talk with Claire last evening — it seemed some while 
ago — ^the sharpest of his sorrow had gone, his extreme 
loneliness was relieved. He did not analyse this partially 
recovered ease of heart, but merely tasted and enjoyed 
it. He did not even trace it to that hour of confidence 
and loosened speech. He simply knew that he could 
now '' begin again ” in a way that, during the first 
dreadful days of grief, he had believed to be impossible. 
That this beginning again might lead him to a swift end 
did not enter into his thoughts. He sat, in the midst of 
warmth, comfort, kindness, contemplating hfe ; and life 
had, not only a secret smile, but a gay, ambiguous, in- 
complete and mocking word to say, which summoned 
him on, out into the future. 


CHAPTER IV 
The Scrupulous Soul 

The small sitting-room seemed crowded and chill after 
the warm, scented spaciousness of the dining-room. The 
reason was that Claire had the long window open, and 
was standing on the little iron balcony. She did not hear 
him enter, and he went quietly to the fire with a slight 
feeling of disillusionment — one he did not recognise. 
Without giving it his full attention he opened the paper. 

Claire stared up at the sky, and down at the court, 
where pigeons ruffled and pecked. The wind caught a 
strand of her hair and then, slipping under, caressed her 
scalp with a cool touch, and subsided. But it was 
stronger up over the roofs, and blew the zenith-full of 
pale grey, monotonous clouds continually one way. 
Through them, the hidden sun shed an even silvery day 
upon the town. '' At sunset ” — she quoted Clement to 
herself— ' after a day likfe this, the wind will drop, and 
rain fall.’' Between her and sunset stretched the breeze- 
haunted silver hours of a November day. It was early, for 
Londoners — only ten. She looked from day-spring to 
sunset, and the hours seemed rich with promise. What 
makes a day busy ? The number of different things done 
or different people seen ? For workers, poor things, the 
absence of interlude to toil, the dearth of slack moments ; 
for lovers, the amount of time spent with the beloved. 

An empty day ”... She knew now what made 
the coming hours seem rich. At that moment instinct 
made her glance over her shoulder ; there Clement was, 
but still she stayed outside watching him. The interior, 
his setting, had a calm benignant look ; her entrance 

47 


48 QUIET INTERIOR 

acquired thereby a symbolic importance, and as though in 
preparation for the rite she turned once more to the outer 
air. As she did so one small portion of the fabric of grey 
cloud thinned, shredded away, and through the chink she 
saw a fragment of pale blue, incredibly remote and pure, 
a pool of heaven. The ravelled edges of cloud merged 
again but not before Claire’s imagination had scaled the 
ramparts of the air and escaped through the interstice 
into the blue meadows beyond. 

She closed the window. Clement stood with the whole 
breadth of the Times between them, but the barrier did 
not daunt her. She felt a trifle exalted, and yet composed, 
sure of herself and of the ground under her feet ; not 
intoxicated. She put up her hand to her face, and stood 
staring at the back of the Times with a serious expression. 
Clement, glancing over the top, noticed her air, perceived 
too, somehow, her exaltation and deliberately looked down 
again. His unexplained sensation of disillusionment was 
replaced by one of uneasiness, but he did not betray it. 
Claire, however, with a sudden change of mood, began to 
talk. 

'' What do men read the paper for ? — ^the news, or what 
the journalists say ? It’s dreadful to be unique — I can’t 
bear the papers.” 

” I read them for the communiqu6s.” 

” Oh well, I understand that. I’m broadminded to a 
certain point ; about half a yard. How can people lap 
up Northcliffe, Southbluff, Wombat Weir & Co. ? Or, if 
it comes to that. Cocoa ? ” 

** Perhaps you prefer the Spectator ? ” the young man 
suggested, tossing down the Times. 

** Ye — es. Ovaltine’s not such bad stuff. Soothing.” 

Did our mothers and fathers scintillate ? If so, 
conversation has decUned. There is levity now, catching 
slang, and ” back chat,” but wit and even humour are 
far rarer than intellect, beauty, talent. The Norrises and 
their close friends, like every other clique or family, were 
amused by their own jokes. 


THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 49 

“ I like the law reports, though,” Claire went on, 
sitting on the arm of a chair, and setting the bookcase on 
the turn. I love a nice murder or a nice breach of 
promise. I shall never, oh never, forget the Seddon 
trial when he made the sign of the widow’s son at the 
judge. If only I’d been there ! But the judge wasn’t 
having any.” 

‘‘ What are you talking about ? ” 

* Are you a mason ? ’ and all that. Sometimes the 
servants lend me their Lloyd's News. Mr. Lloyd is a nut 
at murders ; he has a corner in crimes — ones the innocent 
other papers have never heard of.” 

“ How jolly.” 

Yes, isn’t it ? Or perhaps they’re too respectable.” 
She went to the fire, and her eyes fell on a head-line. '' It 
seems rotten to be so happy,” she added. 

Why rotten ? ” 

When there’s a war on. Yet I didn’t think it wrong 
to be happy when there was only starvation and sweating 
and prisons and so on ” 

Don’t be morbid.” 

''Morbid!” Claire was outraged. 

" You are if you talk like that. It’s no use being 
unhappy — it doesn’t help.” 

" But if I don’t do war- work, oughtn’t I to do some- 
thing else ? ” 

"No.” It was the first time the roles had been thus 
reversed, — Claire tacitly asking advice, Clement giving it. 

" Doesn’t it show I’m a heartless beast if I can be 
happy in spite of the war ? ” 

"No. Anyway, heartlessness is only compar ” 

" Certainly not. There’s an absolute heartlessness 
laid up in heaven, in the next compartment to Plato’s — 
cow, was it ? ” 

p ,, 

" Oh, never mind. Quite off the point. . . . What 
shall we do to-day ? ” 

Clement didn’t answer. She stood with her hand on 
d 


50 QUIET INTERIOR 

the mantelpiece, which, not yet warmed by the fire, felt 
chilly. The silence, too, chilled her, and glancing at 
Clement, her vague dis-ease took form. He stood with 
his head cocked, listening. Only then did her ears catch 
the sound of a piano, breaking the quiet of the house : 
Pauline was playing in the schoolroom, something quick, 
pretentious, bombastic, with vast runs, arpeggios and 
chords, which reached them, muted and robbed of 
sequence by intervening walls and ceilings. 

What about the others ? he finally asked. 

Claire let out the breath she had unconsciously been 
holding. A djinn of jealousy rose in her mind, and 
towered, shadowing the world. It said something in 
a voice too loud for her to hear. With a sharp effort of 
will she forced it back into its prisoning phial, and 
stoppered it. Her instinct was thereupon to slide over 
the significance of his question with a generalisation, but 
she was too proud to allow herself the easier way. She 
must verbally recognise his interest. '' Pauline is 
motoring to Hindhead,” she said. “ Perhaps to-morrow 
we might do something all together. Shall we go for a 
walk in the country — ^to-morrow, I mean ? Though it 
looks uncertain.” She glanced out of the window. 

We shall be able to tell to-night about the weather.” 

You mean you will,” she said with a smile. Then in 
an attempt to recapture her happiness of a few moments 
ago, she went on. What shall we do to-day ? Will 
you come with me to see the Lincolns ? They might 
come walking to-morrow.” 

Yes, let’s.” Clement’s agreement rang true ; he 
clearly had no lingering regrets that Pauline was not to 
be of their company ; it was Claire who suffered. The 
beauty of her day was darkened by the memory of that 
cold overshadowing passion of resentment ; the richness 
of the hours before her was tarnished gold now. She 
felt cold and remote and grey like the clouds, not ex- 
quisitely, exaltedly remote like that blue crevice in the 
sky. It was with tolerant amusement that she heard her 


THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 51 

sister’s ’cello begin to groan. Pauline was making up for 
months of idleness. 

She and Clement walked across the park, and climbed 
on the top of an eastward-going bus. A slim middle- 
aged woman on horseback passed them whose horse, 
shying a little, seemed to curtsey left and right. Claire 
turned her head to admire the rider’s neat form, upright- 
ness and easy, firm control. She thought. How well women 
compared with men in looks and superficial ability, 
especially in looks. One likes men in spite of their 
appearance,” she said to herself, Yes, even nice- 
looking men you’d love not because, never because of 
their looks. But so many women are graceful or pretty 
or even beautiful.” 

The bus roared up Piccadilly, which was like a wide 
grey hard- wood floor ; like the ideal piste on which errand 
boys skate in dreams, where there is just enough danger 
of colhsion to add a zest to sport. The vehicles seemed 
to bowl, to glide, to falter, like clockwork toys ; beautiful 
ungainly parti-coloured buses, drays of rounded barrels, 
grass-green taxis, fawn-coloured and pearl-grey and 
glossy blue private cars, absurd trade-tricycles, and those 
sinister closed broughams wherein — straitly entrenched 
between high tiers of cardboard boxes— ^well nomad 
members of a race surely alien from ours. A block 
stopped them by the Ritz, so that Claire could enjoy the 
discreet vista of Berkeley Street. She regretted that 
her tyrannous schoolgirl choice had not fallen on a house 
in the region of that sumptuous knoll. Hay Hill. 
Westminster had the right sound, it was true, and the 
right spacious look and feel, and it was unvexed by 
modernity, dignified, secure ; but how much more 
charming were the dingy aristocratic purlieus of Mayfair 
with their absurd names : John Street, Charles Street, 
Curzon, Clarges, Conduit and Half-Moon. And then, near- 
by were Shepherds’ Market, Glasshouse, and Windmill 
Streets, and the disillusioning quotidian smells and 
sameness of the Italian quarter. If one lived here the 


52 QUIET INTERIOR 

Roman Catholic Cathedral, reared like a watch tower 
in the South, would be the object of devout pilgrimage, 
instead of being ignored through sheer proximity. 

I want to go to Dublin,” Claire announced suddenly, 
her thoughts having returned to Queen Anne’s Gate and 
Buckingham Gate, and thence to other Georgian residences. 
“ I think Merrion Square must be very like our street, 
only stiff er with people thinking ; that’s the idea you get 
from George Moore. Westminster is chiefly looks. If it 
depended on active thought to keep it up, it would fall to 
bits— unless superstitious reverence for the Stores did the 
trick.” 

Clement was often a trifle bewildered by her talk ; 
being three paces behind as it were, he repeated 
“ Dublin ? ” But Claire let it drop, and went on to speak 
of Bloomsbury, where the Lincolns lived. It was a 
ripping part, but of course out of the question for pro- 
vincials like the Norrises, and with her papa’s ideas of 
what was due to wealth. Clement chaffed her about 
her impersonal manner of touching on family foibles : As 
if you weren’t a Norris,” he said. 

” I don’t feel peculiarly Norris,” she answered, I 
might equally well be a Parsons — or a Lincoln or some- 
thing.” Self-conscious for one instant, she glanced side- 
ways at the young man, but apparently her words 
conveyed only what she had intended ; their possible 
significance was only, she reflected, a vulgar afterthought 
of her own, at which she flushed a little. She looked 
away across the circus, and let the din and clamour fill 
her ears. Remembering her strictures concerning men’s 
looks, she turned again .to examine her companion’s face ; 
it had no lines and no spare skin ; but the effect was not 
one of extreme youth and inexperience, it was of extreme 
serenity of heart and S3nnmetry of mind. In the days of 
neuroses, strained eyes and lips, twisted eyebrows, 
insomnia and querulousness, Clement retained his mental 
poise, his facial symmetry, his tranquility, his sleep, not 
out of dull, unimaginative stupidity and callousness — for 


THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 53 

he was indeed no oaf — ^but because these qualities were so 
securely his by heritage and temperament and early 
training that as long as he lived he would remain and even 
look almost unchanged. Claire remembered the one 
cocked eyebrow of old David Parsons — oh, certainly, 
Clement’s peculiar gravity was not his by the tame method 
of heredity only, though some of it was, of course, drawn 
from his mother’s passive nature and his father’s passion- 
ate love of truth and justice ; but the quality was more 
intensely personal that that ; it was the very thing which 
would have made him scarcely recognisable from his 
fellows had he been educated at a public school. Claire 
saw the paradox in this ; that what made him unusual 
made him ordinary ; she could no other way express 
what she felt to be a truth. Perhaps the serenity of most 
boys was “ faked ” ; an elaborately prepared, half-con- 
sciously assumed disguise, which, when put to the test of 
wear and tear, of trouble, of love, of war, crumbled to 
pieces, and betrayed uneasy hearts, ill-balanced minds, 
emotions misunderstood and misdirected. Was this 
what separated Clement from those whom, but for his 
crankish upbringing, he would so closely have resembled ? 
Was he the genuine, they the spurious ? Her eyes resting 
on his thick hair, she asked : Had your mother a lot ot 

hair ? ” 

“ Yes, a lot of fair hair — very thick and smooth.” 

'' I know ; fearfully hard to do — ^the fine, heavy kind.” 

She used to wear it in plaits round her head. Some- 
times when she had a headache, she took it down, and the 
plaits hung down each side. Then father called her 
Gretchen or Marguerite.” 

They did not speak until the bus had reached Totten- 
ham Court Road.” 

” We’re nearly there,” said Claire ; and then, becoming 
aware of a desire in him to express something he found 
difficult, she added : ” What is it, Clement ? ” 

” I’ve been thinking — I’ve decided, Claire, I must join 
up. And I do want you to agree.” The instant of 


54 QUIET INTERIOR 

hesitancy in his speech did not convey doubt to her ; it 
was not an emotional break, and left his decision un- 
modified. He turned his head to her with an obvious 
effort, as though by sheer will against a weight of air, and 
with his eyes he emphasised his longing for approval, 
for encouragement, for support. But perceiving this, 
she still kept her eyes before her, resisting for the moment 
that demand — ^there was nothing, she knew, that she 
could refuse him finally. Even when she turned her face 
she found no words. Only when he had said : '‘Is that 
right ? — aren’t I right ? ” did she bring out an answer. 
“ Yes, it’s quite right, quite all right.” The repetition 
of simple words, which constant use had made almost 
meaningless, eased her mood. The poignant silence, 
the constricted sensation at her heart, the danger, passed. 
A barrier of familiar sounds had separated them ; she 
could meet his watchful eyes without fear, almost with- 
out emotion. The danger had lain in the fact that what 
she had to give was so much greater than what he asked 
of her ; she must give just what he asked and no more — 
must not let him know there was more ; must set up the 
barrier, let down the portcullis, before all the inmates of 
her eyes rushed out and overwhelmed him. She was 
satisfied that on this occasion, at all events, she had 
judged accurately ; her words, spoken with conviction, 
had carried the needful weight of affection, friendship, 
sympathy, support, and no more. Clement sat quietly by. 
The bus was stopped at Mudie’s corner, and on an impulse 
Claire rose, summoned him with a touch, and they stepped 
off, just as it gathered speed again. 

“ Is it here ? ” he asked. 

“ No, farther on ; only I thought we’d walk a little.” 

“ Right. Tell me about these Lincolns.” 

Claire attempted a few words, but she was too heartsick 
to talk. Her private Clement was already under assault, 
and though not war nor death could dislodge him, he 
seemed doomed to some faint reflection of the real 
Clement’s fate. That clear image whistled by the sheep- 


THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 55 

cotes, stooped to labour, rose up to plough ; and there 
was about him a dreadful, dreaded pathos, in the light 
of the real Clement’s decision. The disparity between 
them was like a division in her own mind, a cleft, a 
wound ; it hurt her. At last, [still, low, steady over her 
hidden pain, words came to her : “You couldn’t — of 
course — simply have stayed on the land.” It was an 
assurance addressed to herself, and Clement agreed with 
a nod. Then he added : 

“ They’re asking for women for the land.” 

“You aren’t replaceable ! ” Claire defended her inner 
conviction. 

“ O Lord, yes ! There are plenty of chaps too old for 
the army — lots of old shepherds who’ll turn out again 
now.” He spoke in an easy, boyish voice, scouting her 
notion of his immense value. If she had been in danger of 
forgetting his youth and inexperience, his way of speaking 
would often have reminded her ; but she never did 
forget it. It was that which kept her on guard, warily, 
though unwillingly, against a betrayal of herself. Her 
feeling of protectiveness towards him came in force again, 
and made it impossible to take advantage of her influence 
over him, of his dependence on her. Had he been older, 
or had he been merely older for his age, and her advantage 
less, she could have used any power she had ; but because 
she felt certain of her power, at least temporarily, she had 
to keep it hidden, sheathed like a weapon. She had acted 
thus without thought, by an instinct of scrupulous 
chivalry ; but her reflection upheld her instinct — ^that 
the beloved, because he did not know his danger, must go 
not only unscathed, but without a glimpse of the bright 
sword. 

Their visit to Henrietta, who was in the midst of clean- 
ing the flat, was short. They agreed on a train, a rendez- 
vous, and a goal for their walk, and left her to her hated 
tasks. They passed from Bloomsbury into the pale 
Parisian vista of Kingsway. Claire, in spite of all she 


56 QUIET INTERIOR 

could not say, was happy again. She needed to torment 
herself with no vision of ecstasy ; the pleasure of com- 
panionship had an exquisite, a perfect flavour. All her 
faculties were broad awake, she felt a fuller tide than 
usual along her veins, but so little did she show outwardly, 
so far was she from a flush or a heightened air or shining 
eyes, that Clement accused her of dreaminess. 

Dreaminess ! she exclaimed indignantly. '' Oh no, 
you might know me better.'’ 

I know what a lot goes on inside,” he answered, 
smiling. ” But what it all is, is a mystery. Of course, 
if you say it's deep thought ! '' 

“ I often try to tell you ; I did this morning.” 

“ Are you being morbid again ? ” 

” No. I was only pointing out that I did sometimes 
tell you. I don't want to be mysterious. Besides, I'm 
not.” 

” Well, what were you meditating just now ? ” 

” I wasn’t,” Claire protested. ” You know the way 
sometimes you feel so much and so calmly it's like think- 
ing ? It seems quite enough just to live. ...” 

” I know. Like when ...” the young man paused, 
but as she didn’t prompt him, went on — ” when it's fine 
weather.” 

” Ye-es. But not sleepy and not excited — more the 
feeling of a dream. I think it must be like the waves of 
strength that mother says comes to women in labour — 
only it isn’t so much waves as a stream.” 

” Isn't that what vitality is ? ” 

I suppose so, only it’s so horribly near to ' vivacity ’ 
that I loathe the word.” 

” How you do chop straws over words, Claire ; it’s a 
rotten habit.” 

** Well, why talk if you don’t say exactly what you 
mean ? ” 

They crossed the Strand, and walked along the Embank- 
ment, beside the clanging trams, to Westminster. 

I shall go for the Artillery I think,” Clement remarked 


THE SCRUPULOUS SOUL 57 

presently ; and Claire’s profound composure was proof 
against the buffet of his words. 

Yes, do,” she answered, with spontaneous sympathy. 

You mean because it’s safer ? ” he asked, turning to 
her from his thoughts, and there was a shadow of anxiety 
in his face. 

No ; I hadn’t thought of that ; though that might 
have been the reason.” 

'' Why, then ? You’re being a puzzle to-day.” 

'' Well, I suppose because if you want to go into the 
artillery, I want you to, too.” 

Clement was satisfied, and at once she saw his thoughts 
set off again away from her, though now and then he 
brought back his discoveries, as a child brings short- 
stemmed flowers to the guardian who walks staidly behind 
it, or as a highly-occupied dog checks its career, now and 
then, and comes back to encourage its owner. He left 
her at the house door to go on an errand to the post 
office, and she went with unmarred happiness up to her 
room. 

In a short while Pauline came in. 

Hallo, didn’t you go after all ? ” 

** Enid’s got chicken-pox. Isn’t it the limit ? I’m 
furious.” Nevertheless, a glint of some other emotion — 
surprise tinged with curiosity and amusement — replaced 
discontent in her bright, unambiguous face. “ My dear, 
there is a gift of roses waiting for you downstairs.” 

For me ? ” 

'' Yes. I met Clement in Victoria Street and we were 
coming home together when he suddenly dived into 
Ernest’s and came out with some roses. I thought for a 
minute they were for me. Come and be presented. He’s 
in the larder with them.” She appeared anxious to 
witness the event. 

Claire was silent. They went down together to the 
back drawing-room, and the young man gave her the 
flowers, which were deep crimson and of perfect shape. 

” Oh, Clement, how beautiful. Thank you so much. 


58 QUIET INTERIOR 

What lovely long buds, just uncurling. May I have them 
up in my room ? '' 

** Selfish beast,” said Pauline. 

“ I shall just be selfish, then. I can’t gloat over them 
down here.” 

“ Weird animal ! ” Pauline remarked to their com- 
panion. “ You’d think we never saw a flower, and were 
too poverty-stricken to buy them.” 

He looked unsmiling from one to the other. 

After all,” said Claire, “ one doesn’t buy oneself 
roses.” She kept them by her place throughout lunch, 
at which both girls noticed that Clement talked more than 
usual. When Pauline remarked on his volubility, he 
looked at her in silence for a few moments ; and then 
Claire perceived the faintest possible blush creep over his 
tanned face. A still brief instant of intuition told her 
then that the impulse to buy the roses had been inspired 
by his chance meeting with Pauline ; and the fact that the 
gift of them was made to herself betokened no conscious 
duplicity in the candid soul of Clement. The innocent 
duplicity, however, was there ; and Claire perceived it. 
It was with the infinite care employed in touching a 
wound that, up in her own room after lunch, she arranged 
the crimson roses in a jar. Meanwhile, she preserved 
composure in her face ; and having wiped away a few 
soundless tears, which had distilled themselves as from 
the eyelids of a delicate mask, she went downstairs to sit 
with her family. 


CHAPTER V 
A Cockney Outing 

Sunday morning was one of crisp glory. Shadow lay like 
deep cold water along one side of the street ; the other 
was washed with gold. Beyond the roof-tops arched the 
cloudless pale crystal blue. 

The Norrises and Clement met the Lincolns at Victoria 
Station. Lucy Lincoln overtopped the rest by far — ^they 
were conscious of his height as they stood by the booking- 
office exchanging coins and jests. It was height and not 
size that marked him out, for he was very thin. He wore 
the most ancient discoloured clothes, and carried a ruck- 
sack. Between the extremes of his disreputable appear- 
ance and Pauline’s Bond Street tweeds and brogues the 
other three varied in degrees of neatness and newness ; 
Clement and Claire in worn but respectable country 
clothes, and Henrietta in a Burberry and a straw hat, 
once vermilion, faded now to a pastel red, crammed on 
her head with an instinct for the right angle. Staring at 
Pauline in admiration she miurmured to Claire, Country 
Life, what ? ” 

** Immaculate,” Claire responded. 

'"Yes, yes. ' Immaculate tweeds ’ — ^the only conceiv- 
able expression. I say, Pauline, we’ve just linked you 
up with an immaculate conception. But not by the lay- 
ing on of hands ” 

Stow it,” her brother interrupted, blinking away and 
gulping down his amusement in view of Pauline’s chill 
blankness, and Claire’s flicker of enchanted horror. They 
two had often to combine to cover the tracks of the enfant 
terrible, her friend, his sister. It was not their only bond ; 


59 


6o QUIET INTERIOR 

they liked and understood each other with little converse. 
Claire, taking Henrietta’s arm so as to ensure her not 
lingering to bewilder or shock Pauline, led the way to the 
train, and Lucy strode beside them. 

Mother heard from Hilary yesterday,” said Claire. 

Is she coming home ? ” 

'' She says in the spring.” 

'' How long has she been in Russia ? ” Lucy asked. 

About a year now.” 

'' It will be sport when she comes back,” said Henrietta. 
“ Fm sure I shall hate her.” 

Yes, you and she wiU rather agree in your idea of 
sport,” Claire answered, as they settled themselves in an 
empty carriage. ‘'Now moderate your conversation ; 
here are the others.” 

“No one else must be allowed in,” was Pauline’s 
decision. “ Lucy, you’d better occupy one seat, and we’ll 
fill up the other.” 

Henrietta, however, tossing her hat on the rack, seated 
herself beside her brother, opposite to the Norrises and 
Clement. Her hair was now revealed ; cendrS, smooth, 
cut d V enfant T Edouard, the fringe hiding her eyebrows. 
Her face was imsymmetrical, owing, Claire said, to the 
frequency with which her tongue sought her cheek ; and 
this gave her a rather sardonic expression, which was not 
altogether misleading ; she shared with Lucy a profound 
unaffected C5micism, a highly developed sense of humour, 
intellectual snobbery, and intolerance for the stupid, the 
sentimental, the ignoble and the insincere. She looked 
foreign, especially when her mood, or the light darkened 
her eyes, thus accentuating her pallor ; for only rarely, 
when she was excited, did spots of pink appear at the apex 
of the triangular shadow which gave her cheeks a hollow, 
strange, disquieting look. 

Lucy, too, had pale hollow cheeks. His face was 
meditative, narrow, large-boned. Only the mouth was 
small and fine ; the lips scarcely moved when he spoke. 
He was, like many men of twenty-nine, a little bald and 


A COCKNEY OUTING 6i 

stooping. He lay back in his corner, and taking off his 
glasses began to rub his eyes. 

“ How’s Russell ? ” Claire asked. 

“ He’s got jaundice. You know they’re at Ypres now,” 
said Henrietta. Isn’t it bl — beastly. Damn this 
blasted war.” 

Claire noticed suddenly, and with a rush of pity, that 
her friend had been crying. 

Jaundice on the top of everything else ! Mud and 
blood and ice and lice — ” Russell’s sister continued. 

” And now jaundfc^,” Pauline put in. She had a 
slightly possessive attitude about Russell Lincoln — 
although she did not requite his passion for her — and 
this was reflected in her manner. 

Henrietta looked critically at her, and went on with 
deliberation : ” And all the time these old fire-eaters in 

clubs — ” a passing train drowned her words, and when it 
had passed Clement was addressing her tentatively : 

” All this outcry about old men — is there anything in 
it ? They mind just as much as we do.” 

'' Perhaps they do. But they’ve had their good time.” 

” We shall have ours,” said Claire. 

” The younger ones of us will. The war’s just dished us. 
And anyway, the future will be rotten. By the time these 
idiots have done being patriotic about England they’ll 
have made it unfit to live in. Think of all the boys who’ll 
be brought up to despise girls, and think they’re G.A. . . . 
Just what we’re getting over. And they’ll wish they’d 
been grown up in time to be in the war.” 

” Their fathers will have been in it,” Clement pointed out. 

'' The children will only hear about V.C.s and ‘ Fifty 
Gallant Deeds for Boys ’ and ‘ With Haig in High Wood.’ ” 
I think it will be better in many ways,” said Claire. 
'' People have had to make sacrifices ” 

“ When they haven’t made fortunes, and — Oh, Claire, 
how can you talk about sacrifices ? It isn’t good for 
people to sacrifice themselves ; and anyway, the loss most 
people really mind badly is money.” 


62 QUIET INTERIOR 

** Oh come ! ” protested Clement, his sanity, his con- 
ventions and his ideals all outraged by what, Claire could 
tell from his tone, he regarded as a silly exaggeration. 

I’m like that myself,” said Henrietta unperturbed. 

Except when I choose to remember and realise the 
horrors, or except when they’re brought home to me, all 
I mind is having less cash and no young men and hardly 
any dances and no servant. If only I could remember 
the war. I’d be less ashamed. And I know I’m not 
specially callous.” 

** That’s what I meant yesterday morning,” Claire 
said to Clement. 

“ Yes, Claire, you know what I mean, don’t you ? 
And we aren’t morbid.” 

''I’m not so sure,” Clement broke in quickly. " I 
don’t want you to be callous, but ...” 

" At least they needn’t enjoy the war,” Henrietta inter- 
rupted bitterly with a gesture. 

" Nobody does,” said Clement. 

" My good man ! Have you been living in Hawaii ? ” 
She paused and Claire supported her : 

" I know what she means ; there is rather a — ^too much 
courage on the part of people who are safely over age — 
women too.” All the same, she thought, Henrietta 
was being rather violent and crude ; there was of course 
a connection between this and her morning’s tears, the 
tears of which only an intimate friend could perceive the 
traces. It was a pity that Clement’s first real meeting 
with Henrietta should coincide with an abnormal mood in 
her. Claire longed for them to like each other. She had 
that desire to draw her friends together which turns 
irresponsible people into match-makers. She felt thus 
also in regard to her family. She never admired Pauline 
in a becoming mood, or dress, without wishing their 
parents to admire her too ; and it was a constant, though 
small, source of dissatisfaction to her that Pauline 
always appeared quite indifferent to their mother’s 
peculiar' grace and charm. She hoped, however, that 


A COCKNEY OUTING 63 

when Clement and Henrietta saw more of each other 
they would discover each other’s extreme lovable- 
ness. 

The party emerged, soon after eleven, on to the 
shadowed valley station of Box Hill. Sunday calm lay 
over the village ; the church bells had ceased to ring. 
They began at once to climb, and soon left the road for a 
track, slippery and chalky, but leading them up towards 
the sunlight. 

'' With eyes glued to the spoor they trekked the trail,” 
said Henrietta. In case you ever want to write your 
African experiences. Poppy — I mean, Pauline, I point 
out that those three words can be used interchangeably, 
without spoiling the perfectly good local colour. That 
reminds me, Claire, do you advise me to buy a hay- 
box ? ” 

'' What’s that ? ” her brother asked with a trace of 
anxiety. 

My dear Lucy ! Do you tell me you’ve never yet 
struck a hay-box in all your legal career ? They’re 
marvellous objects — a sort of cross between a dewpond 
and a thermos flask. You boil a pudding and put it in all 
amongst the hay, and then something scientific happens. 
It goes on boiling, or something. The only doubt seems 
to be, if you have to boil it first — ^why ? ... as Claire 
would say.” 

They came to the top of the hill, some of them panting 
furtively, and going to an edge where the ground fell 
steeply, looked across a rich leaf-stained valley of curves 
and slopes, drenched in sunshine, misty in the hollows. 

Surrey is lovely,” said Claire, whatever people may 
say about suburbia.” 

Sophisticated,” said Lucy, but without scorn. 

“ Surrey is hot ” said Henrietta, but Surrey is 

not as hot as curry. Custard is yellow, but custard is 
not as yellow as mustard. Motors are smelly, but motors 
are not as smelly as bloaters. Anyone can do it, only 
they don’t.” 


64 QUIET INTERIOR 

It’s just as well,” Claire replied, taking Henrietta’s 
arm, it prevents ill-feeling.” 

Any more ? ” Pauline asked. 

“ Oh yes ; trees are green, but trees are not as green as 
peas.” 

I see you don’t worry about truth,” said Clement. 

“ Oh no ! Down with realism ! Grapes are — no, that’s 
indecent.” 

Just in time,” Pauline remarked, with a supercilious 
smile, and making a movement away from the edge of the 
plateau. “ Let’s go on.” 

“ Have you the map, Lucy ? ” said Henrietta. Have 
you made out the least likely route ? Have you marked 
the short cuts, rights-of-way and what not ? In other 
words, how far is this blighted pub ? ” 

Without replying, her brother struck the pocket of 
his coat with his large, pale, long-fingered hand, and led 
them towards a lane. 

“ I knew it. We’re in for a good five-mile detour. 
Inevitable footpaths ! I know their little game ; they 
lead you round and round in a triangle, and meanwhile I 
can smell that pub receding into the distance. Oh dear, 
here’s a stile. My blue knickers went mottled in the 
wash. Don’t look, Pauline, or you’ll get a shock.” 

Lucy let out one monosyllabic guffaw, and Pauline 
answered, Well, I won’t,” as though humouring a child. 
Claire felt her sister’s patronage and condescension and 
aloofness, but without resentment. She fell back to walk 
with Henrietta, who presently asked her if Pauline was 
engaged to be married. 

Good Lord, no — why ? ” 

She’s coming the married lady over me to-day, isn’t 
she rather ? Oh, I don’t mind at all. But Claire, 
Clement doesn’t like me.” 

It’ll take him a little while to get used to you, 
naturally.” 

Yes, I suppose so. But I hope he will. I like him, 
he is a dear.” 


A COCKNEY OUTING 65 

A few days before, Claire would have answered spon- 
taneously without arriSre pensee, Yes, he’s a darling/' 
But she could not mislead her friend by the half-truth 
of a facile agreement, and so she made no reply. 

When they came up with the others, there was a general 
pause at a gate, and some one proposed that they should 
eat their sandwiches, and drink at the inn when they 
found it. The three girls perched, and Lucy leaned his 
back and elbows, on the gate. Clement, a yard or two 
farther off, sat on a fence surveying them in profile. 
Quiet and sunshine lay all around ; on one hand were the 
enclosed fields they had left, on the other, an open 
heathery stretch, with tiny paths winding among the 
gorse bushes. 

Clement swept the view with his eyes, and then brought 
them to rest on Pauline, with imconscious satisfaction. 
His unformulated taste in feminine beauty was con- 
ventional ; and Henrietta’s appearance, for which there 
were few precedents, worried him without him knowing 
it, as a tiny wrinkle in the bedclothes disturbs a sleeper. 
The contrast between the two girls was striking ; but he 
was not aware of being struck by it ; he only felt a 
deepening of his contentment as his eyes rested on 
Pauline Norris, who gave him, over Lucy’s dream- 
wrapped head, an amiable smile. Beyond her. Miss Lincoln 
was unusually quiet in the mesmeric height of noon ; his 
glance slipped over her to Claire, who smoked, still and 
watchful and beautifully familiar to him ; and back to 
Lucy Lincoln, where it stayed. ‘ ' Queer chap,” he thought . 

Lucy’s chin was buried deep in his hands, which stood 
up each side of his face like shutters ; between them 
protruded his large nose, with pince-nez on it, and an old 
pipe, depending from his lips ; all these were over- 
shadowed by his ancient hat. He appeared to ponder 
deeply, but on the other hand — ^like the Sphinx — ^he 
might have been asleep. He was the only one who did 
not stir when the faint church bell sounded. Holy 
Communion,” said Claire, coming to the ground. 


66 QUIET INTERIOR 

“ Adders abound," replied Henrietta with characteristic 
irrelevance. 

“ That reminds me," said Clement, as they went on, 
** MoUie Cox has gone into a convent." 

Really ! " Pauline’s tone was civil, but Claire’s 
interest was genuinely aroused ; she wanted to know why. 
Mollie Cox was the well-educated daughter of a publican 
near Sparrows, to whom she had had the satisfaction 
of lending books. 

Wasn’t she the pretty girl ? " Pauline asked. 

** Vi Farlow’s friend," the young man answered. It’s 
a convent near Wantage." 

Anglican or Catholic ? And why, Clement ? " Claire 
questioned. 

Anglican. I don’t know why. Vi won’t talk about it." 

“ They used to be such friends. Perhaps they split 
over religion." 

** I can’t satisfy your inquisitiveness, so it’s no good." 

A village drama," Henrietta put in : 

“ There was an old monk of Siberia 
Whose life it grew drearier and drearier ; 

With the hell of a yell, he escaped from his cell. 

And went off with a Mother Superior.’’ 

The rhyme was not new, yet Lucy let out another of 
his unexpected guffaws ; every one looked at him. 

How’s it done, Lucy ? ’’ Pauline asked, with an 
assumption of gaiety inadequately disguising her 
condescension. 

“ It’s not done to laugh at one’s own family’s jokes, I 
know," his sister answered for him, “ you must excuse 
us Lincolns, Pauline ; we don’t know how to behave." 

Clement thought that Pauline must hate Henrietta, 
but she only laughed. Claire’s silent comment was that 
both were to blame for their betrayal of hostility. Pauline 
oughtn’t to have come if she was going to be superior ; 
and Henrietta ought to have the tact to ignore her 
superiority. 


A COCKNEY OUTING 67 

Henrietta had, at least, however, the tact to bring 
about a readjustment of partners for which Claire herself 
had been unwilling to manoeuvre ; when they left the 
inn after a brief rest for drinks she drew Pauline on in 
front with her brother ; and thus Claire had her wish, 
which was to walk with Clement in the frail, bright 
wintry beauty of the afternoon, whose very perfection 
suggested transcience. 

The Lincolns are clever,” said Clement, who never 
disguised his rarely-felt desire to discuss personalities as 
do those who are so preoccupied with them that they feel 
it necessary to feign indifference. His remark was half a 
question ; and Claire confirmed him. 

” These two are. Russell isn’t, though he’s awfully 
nice. Lucy’s very good at his job.” 

” What’s that ? ” 

** Solicitor. And Henrietta’s as clever as they’re 
made.” 

” He seems a nice chap,” Clement remarked, skirting a 
possibly unpleasant topic. 

" Yes, he’s a dear. Frightfully shy and reserved and 
critical. He’s not a bit interested in people — I don’t 
think men can be as much as women. Though of course 
Pauline isn’t ...” 

” Haven’t they any parents ? ” 

No mother. She was French. Their names are really 
French : Henriette and Lucien.” 

'' Oh, I see. Hence Lucy.” 

” Yes. Their father’s somewhere — ' Oh no, we never 
mention him.’ He’s a bad lot. Of course, he might turn 
up any time. I think both of them are scared of that, at 
the back of their minds . . . That might account for 
Henrietta’s nerves and restlessness. Lucy’s not quite so 
bad. You feel there’s some chance for him ” 

'' Chance of what ? ” 

Of happiness. But she grasps at it and wants it so, 
she’s almost bound to lose it ; at least that’s what I 
feel. Yet she can’t sit down and be calm and hopeful ; 


68 QUIET INTERIOR 

much less go into a convent, so to speak. I mean, she’s 
too much interested in life to leave it alone.” 

” What’s wrong with her ? ” 

** Did you ever read The Shadow of Life ? She’s 
like the hero in that : afraid of life, afraid of emotions, 
that is — of being hurt. She enjoys the intellectual part 
awfully. I sometimes think it’s lack of real vitality that 
makes her like that.” 

“You wouldn’t say so to see her.” 

“ Oh that’s nothing to go by — ^high spirits ... it’s 
something quite separate.” Claire lapsed into thought. 

“ Y ou’re awfully fond of her, aren’t you ? ’ ’ Clement asked. 

“ Yes, most awfully.” But instantly her thoughts 
came back from her other friend to the one at her side. 
She glanced at him with an accustomed sense of intimacy, 
with a heightened sense of beauty. His serene face under 
the felt hat gave her a sympathy she had never before 
felt for sculptors — ^the stillness, the warm, fine-grained 
solidity of his countenance infused with life — ^guarding 
but not hiding the steady strong flame and pulse of life, 
suggested the plastic art ; she longed to cast bronze to a 
life-inspired shape of symmetry and candour. Then, 
with a sudden rush of blood to the finger tips she knew 
that the desire to manipulate clay or chisel had merged 
in the desire to touch the rough tweed of his sleeve. A 
shadow passed across her eyes ; for an instant the clear 
burnished landscape was blotted out by the dark shadow 
of intense emotion — ^not the love which stirs the vitals, 
but that which sits between the eyes above the brow, and 
which sometimes drops an awful veil across the senses. 
Even in that instant her tongue was not loosened. Some 
profounder, or at least more powerful instinct kept her 
lips closed. When sun-stained heath and faint horizon 
and bright firmament dropped back again into place, 
she knew that she had said nothing ; and as she looked 
away from her companion, across the undulations of 
Surrey, her obscurely imposed restraint seemed to flower 
in silent visible beauty around her. 


A COCKNEY OUTING 69 

Across that short distance between them Henrietta's 
ironic laughter came suddenly to her ears, and as though 
even thus vicariously Henrietta could not but be irre- 
levant with a fine keen edge of appositeness. To her 
mind leapt one of her friend's phrases : What a baby- 
snatch." 

Later in the afternoon, they came out of a narrow lane 
on to the open top of a long slope. Behind them hung an 
orange sun throwing their long shadows on the damp 
chalky soil ; to the left was an inclined sweep of parch- 
ment-coloured plough-land ; and at its foot, at right 
angles to their present path, ran a white high road, 
bordered on its farther side by a beech hedge still in leaf, 
startlingly rich-hued in the oblique light, holding their 
eyes with its astonishing copper glory in the landscape 
of ivory soil and delicate blue shadows. After an instant’s 
staring, the whole five started to run down the slope, the 
frosty air rushing past their cheeks and ears, tingling, 
exhilarating. Then they walked soberly along the high 
road towards Leatherhead. 

Pauline attempted a conversation with Clement. She 
apparently desired to discuss the Lincolns, but out of 
loyalty to Claire the young man answered evasively. 

It's odd," she pursued unabashed, and with an 
unusually confidential tone, '' Claire and Henrietta being 
such friends when they're so alike." 

** Are they ? " 

Well," said Pauline, with an air of fine candour, I 
must admit it was Russell who pointed it out to me — you 
know, their brother who’s in France. Of course, he's 
not what they call clever, but he was clever enough to 
see that likeness, and when he pointed it out I saw how 
true it was." 

Oh," said Clement, with the nice caution of one who 
does not recognise the landmarks. He was disconcerted 
without knowing it by Pauline’s artificial manner ; he did 
not consciously recognise that she was practising on him 
the manner and speech pf a woman of the world which 


70 QUIET INTERIOR 

she hoped to acquire ; but his sincerity apprehended 
her Thespianism, and he felt uneasy. Nevertheless, he 
derived pleasure from her talk, the charm of her urbanity 
was not lost on him, and it was the instinct of the prompter 
which made him add, “ Like in what way ? ” 

Oh, you know their weird opinions — socialism, and 
all that.” 

This was rather a poor climax ; and to Clement the 
explanation was unconvincing. '' If they are alike,” he 
said, I think it must go deeper than that.” 

His companion was not prepared to follow it there ; for, 
with a return to her normal tone, she dismissed the 
matter with a vaguely iU-natured remark about not 
attempting to fathom Henrietta’s depths. 

The party went down the steep street of the town, 
a street all hazed and flushed with the pinkish-gold of the 
sunset. The little common shops. Sabbath-shuttered, 
the low windows filled with aspidistras between falls of 
Nottingham lace, were set in house-fronts of radiant 
brick. There were only a few loiterers in the sharp air. 

“ There is a flower-shop in Devonshire Street that sells 
aspidistra plant food,” said Henrietta. How I hate 
curtains. Of comse they’re nice in winter to shut out 
the dreary half light and the rain.” 

'' I like the long, straight hnes they make,” said Claire, 
“ it hides those hard edges.” 

” Hear, hear,” Lucy agreed. 

** Well, as long as it’s only one layer I can bear it,” 
his sister replied, a skirt so to speak. What I bar are 
windows with a skirt and a petticoat and sometimes a 
little chemise draped right across too. Is it done because 
bow-windows have bow legs ? 


CHAPTER VI 

The Rent in the Curtains 

The dance which had been planned to take place in Bill 
Osier’s studio ended by being held in the Norrises* house, 
and some time later than the date originally fixed. 

Clement had joined the army soon after the Sunday 
walk ; and his departure left Claire so listless that she 
had no wish for any gaieties. Pauline went to too many 
dances of other people’s to be in a great hurry to organise 
one of her own, and then Bill Osier himself got mumps. 
He was in the Artists Rifles, stationed in London, and 
therefore was easily accessible ; so when his recovery 
coincided with Clement’s obtaining a commission Claire 
decided to celebrate the event — providing Clement could 
get leave — by giving a dance in Westminster, and inviting 
Bill’s co-operation. 

The front drawing-room, so rarely used, was brilliantly 
lit. Cascades of ghttering crystal drops fell from the 
chandeliers. The parquet floor, flawless, smooth, 
polished, beautiful, stretched temptingly from fire place to 
far wall, from the three long windows hung with green 
to the white open folding doors, through which the piano 
had been pushed into the back drawing-room. On the 
green walls white-friezed, the pictures hung top-heavily, 
lacking (to the eye) the accustomed support of heavy 
furniture. 

At ten o’clock the room was empty except for a neat, 
tallish, red-haired young man in khaki, who stood with 
his back to the room, examining a frame full of silhouettes. 
He passed then to the adjacent picture, which he studied 
with the same apparently deep attention ; and so to a 

71 


72 QUIET INTERIOR 

large anaemic pastel group of three pallid little girls, 
whom, after backing to get a more comprehensive view, 
he recognised by the conformation of their brows as 
Claire and Pauline Norris. The sitting one was pre- 
sumably Hilary. This production did not detain him 
long. He was absorbed in a tier of three small obscure 
melodramatic oil landscapes when Pauline, dressed in 
deep rose-pink, came in from the passage. 

Sorry I was so long,” she said. ” I suppose every one 
else is feeding.” They moved towards the stairs. 

” Yes, even the pianist and the youth with the game leg.” 

” Which is he ? ” 

” The violinist.” 

” Has he a game leg ? How did you know ? ” 

” 1 saw.” 

” Really, Bill ! ” the girl exclaimed in half-scornful 
amusement, ” the things you notice ! ” They entered the 
dining-room, which was filled with guests standing, eating 
and drinking. 

” What has he been noticing now ? ” asked Claire, who 
was with Clement near the door. 

” Oh, Claire,” said Bill seriously, ” there you are. I 
wanted to ask you something. Do you recollect that silk 
smock ? ” 

” Which ? We were dressed in an unending series of 
silk smocks.” 

” The one in the pastel group I mean, of course.” 

Yes, I do, why ? ” 

” Oh, I just wondered,” Bill answered, carelessly. 
” You look so pleased with it in the portrait. I knew the 
meaning of that self-consciously protruded stomach.” 

” Blue, green and pink,” said Pauline. 

” So I saw. Was it always the same allocation — ^good 
word, what ? ” 

” Yes, but what does it mean ? Did we always have 
the same colour ? Yes. Hilary green because of her 
hair ; Claire pink because she was dark ; me blue because 
of my eyes.” 


THE RENT IN THE CURTAINS 73 

** And very nice too. And of course the artist 
connived.’' 

“ I don’t know what you mean, Bill,” Pauline protested. 
“ It’s all very well to talk to Claire and Henrietta like 
that, but I’m not intellectual.” 

” Connived at the myth.” 

” Yes,” Claire answered. ” Of course he was heavily 
paid to do so.’ 

It was Bill Osier’s firmly expressed conviction that 
Hilary was a figment of the Norrises’ imagination ; that 
she didn’t exist, and never had existed ; that they had 
invented her for some excellent private reason, as Ernest 
invented Bunbury. Bill had only known the Norrises 
since their advent to London, so there was no corrobora- 
tive evidence of the existence of their adopted sister ; 
but, he often said, even had tidings come from Leicester 
that Hilary was remembered, he would not believe in 
her ; a colossal hoax had doubtless been practised on 
the inhabitants of that town. 

Presently there was a movement towards the ball- 
room, and Claire instructed the musicians to strike up. 
She and Bill danced in silence, moving with absorption 
among the chattering couples. Some man began to 
sing, and half a dozen voices joined in : 

“ Dancing Teacher, show us how to do the Fox Trot 
(You’ll have to watch your step.) " 

but neither Bill nor Claire opened their closed lips. 
They danced with the grimness of those to whom dancing 
is an intellectual passion. They slid skilfully on the 
last three notes of the tune, and came to a stop near 
the door. Standing aside to let the rest pass out, they 
waited, and when the last of the twenty couples had 
gone by to sit out on the stairs or in the back drawing- 
room, went across to one of the windows, which Claire 
opened a little. Then their tongues were suddenly 
loosed. They talked with ease and fluency and mutual 
comprehension. Their converse was unlike their dancing. 


74 QUIET INTERIOR 

except that they never took each other by surprise. 
They clashed little sparks from each other’s wits with 
absurd gravity ; there was no real strife between them, 
no obscure, baffled or doubtful feelings ; their relationship 
was clear, like a bright small crackling fire of wood. 

Bill Osier’s gravity, like his extreme neatness and 
uprightness, was part of his Anglo-Saxon pose. He liked 
to be so ordinary as not to be noticed. He carefully 
cultivated an appearance and manner of extreme con- 
ventionality ; his chief anxiety was that of his Irish- 
Cornish nationality being discovered, or even suspected. 
He had once been heard earnestly begging Henrietta to 
describe him to her friends as a young man with a heart of 
gold. “ Or a goose with golden eggs ? ” Henrietta had 
retorted. Henrietta said that he disguised his Celtic 
fringe with curling-papers, and the jibe was two-edged, 
because the close cropping of his red hair was intended 
not only to prevent any danger of shagginess, but also 
to thwart its tendency to curl. He was, fortunately for 
his pose, slender, but compact, extremely close-knit, 
having a figure that was almost military, even before it 
was covered with a khaki uniform. His small head 
high set, was well-covered with flesh, yet lean. His 
hazel eyes had often with strangers a side-long glance, 
and he sometimes blushed ; not from shyness, but from 
that lesser curse of civilised man, self-consciousness : he 
blushed if he thought he had said anything that might con- 
ceivably be thought Irish, Celtic, poetic, mystic or senti- 
mental. His conception of an Anglo-Saxon role included 
observation of material facts, suspiciousness of every- 
thing not known at first hand, and the use of the word 

what ” at the end of sentences. He spoke always in 
an even, almost monotonous voice, with Anglo-Saxon 
calm. He had rehearsed and played the r61e so many 
countless times that he was by now identified with it ; 
that is to say, he very rarely had cause to blush. 

What lay beneath this insincerity, if insincerity it was, 
Claire did not know ; Henrietta’s recommendation, and 


THE RENT IN THE CURTAINS 75 

the fact that he was extremely easy to get on with, made 
her always ready to see him ; in addition, she admired 
his paintings. They were of fantastic subjects, minutely 
executed in fine and brilliant water colours, having much 
the same effect as the capital pictures in illuminated 
manuscripts, but without their gilding. 

“ Don’t get cold,” he said, as she lingered near the 
window. 

How queer empty lighted rooms are,” said Claire, 
** they’re rather like the feeling of having seen it 
before. . . . What is it ? ” 

They moved to the hearth, where a small fire glowed, 
and the girl turned her back to it, and continued to survey 
the gleaming length of the room. 

“ I should be frightened to be up here alone after you’d 
all gone. It’s far worse than the dark. It’s positively 
sinister — and yet full, it’s so gay.” 

“ Ah, the reverse of the medal, what ? But about 
remembering things — you know — ^that haven’t happened, 
don’t you think that’s rather a dear old theory about 
there being no time and all that ? ” 

'' I’d never heard of it. What is it ? ” 

By the time Henrietta entered, an argument was well 
under way. Claire smiled with pleasure, watching her 
friend come across the polished golden-brown floor in 
her stiff, full dress of pale green brocaded with silver. 
** My partner’s fallen in love with Pauline ; I can’t get 
him to look at me, so I left him,” she said, kneeling down 
by the fire. Go on.” 

Well, as you say so, I will,'’ Bill answered. Now 
then, Claire, listen to me : if there is time, then time 
began ; and if time had a beginning what was there 
before ? ” 

I don’t see any snag in that,” said Claire. '' You 
say there’s only eternity — ^well, couldn’t there be eternity, 
before and after time ? A sort of circle of string with 
a knot in it ? ” 

Bill was unable for the moment to recollect the right 


76 QUIET INTERIOR 

answer to this poser ; so he hastened to point out one 
obvious advantage in his theory. ''You see, the satis- 
factory thing about this notion is that it explains second 
sight and premonitions — oh, right away. You see, if 
there’s no succession of events, if it’s all, so to speak, 
simultaneous, there’s no such thing as past and future.” 

'' Yes, only the cure seems worse than the disease,” 
Henrietta put in. 

'' I can’t grasp this simultaneous touch,” Claire 
objected. '' After all, things seem to us to happen one 
after the other, and why should it be ... an illusion ? ” 

'' We have an illusion of sequence because we can’t 
grasp more than one set of things at a time. But I can’t 
explain it ; I don’t know the jargon. Wonderful help, 
jargon ! You ought to read Bertrand Russell, Claire. 
He has a nice thing called ' the frozen country ’ — a very 
pleasant notion. You’d like that. I expect Henrietta 
can lend him to you. And then there’s Determinism. 
Henrietta can tell you all about that. She got it all from 
me originally — ^believe me. I’m some nut on philosophy ! 
— but now she reels it off as if it was her own invention.” 

'' Yes,” said Henrietta. 

“ There was a young man who said ‘ Damn ! * 

It annoys me to think that I am 
Predestined to move in a permanent groove, 

I’m not even a bus ; I’m a tram.” 

” Your aptness is absolutely staggering,” protested the 
young man. " Claire, this is your house, may I go and 
get a drink ? You ladies, as they say, don’t seem to need 
a drop except once in a blue -moon.” 

'* Oh, do go. Bill : I’m so sorry I didn’t ask you. For 
Heaven’s sake go and drink as much as you can.” 

'' Oh, before I go, just tell me, will you, who the staff 
chap is ? ” 

'' Oh, that’s Ivor Webb.” 

'' Pauline’s latest,” said Henrietta. 

” Yes,” Claire agreed. 


THE RENT IN THE CURTAINS 77 

And very nice too, what ? Don't forget you have 
the next with me," he added to Henrietta, as he 
departed. 

“ Dear old Bill," she said, after a moment. ** I hope 
this blasted war will be over before he has to go out." 

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before the 
young man reappeared on the threshold of the room. 
He was changed. He made a sign which each girl assumed 
to be addressed to the other. The violinist in the adjoin- 
ing room began to tune up. 

It seemed a long time to Bill before Henrietta realised 
it was she to whom he had beckoned. He found it 
impossible to speak. The gleaming floor stretched 
between him and the hearth like a vast plain. Dpon its 
other border, in what seemed unnaturally prolonged 
stillness, stood Claire, pale and small and black-haired, 
in a cloud of misty blue ; and Henrietta, kneeling in her 
stiff green dress, which suggested a Renaissance concep- 
tion of Spring. At la^^t she moved towards him ; he 
noticed the triangular flushed shadows on her either 
cheek which showed that she was exhilarated. 

Claire, left alone, thought that as she was not booked 
for the next dance she would go and see how her parents 
were getting on. Her father, had dined at the club but 
he had probably by now returned. Mrs. Norris decked 
out as Claire loved to see her, and mildly glowing with 
pride and pleasure in her daughters and her guests, had 
wandered from room to room apparently quite happy to 
be just an onlooker. She would, however, be pleased 
if Claire sought her company. 

It was only by a perpetual effort that Claire prevented 
herself following Clement, if only with her eyes. She 
wanted more than anything to dance with him, to stand 
near him, or at least to look at him. But pride, and her 
high resolve, kept even her eyes conventionally change- 
able in their direction. If, however, in seeking her 
parents, she found him, there could be no harm. His 
smiling welcome and frank pleasure in her company 


78 QUIET INTERIOR 

would be a double gift — a flower and a sword. To hug 
one was to hug both ; his eyes were so candid and virginal 
in their friendly homage, and his smile so unequivocal. 
But as she moved forward from her place, Bill reappeared, 
quickly crossing the room, and said with less composure 
than usual : 

** It was Lincoln. He came to see Henrietta. I’m 
afraid it’s bad news.” 

“ Oh, Bill ! ” Claire exclaimed under her breath, with 
a contraction of the heart. The bright curtains slung 
across the gulf seemed suddenly to be rent like the veil 
of the Temple, and the dark apertures yawned beyond. 
After an instant of utter motionlessness she almost ran 
out into the passage, and as she began to descend the stairs 
the music struck up. She was forced to wait until every- 
one, including her mother, had passed her. 

‘‘ Mr. Lincoln seems to be in the hall,” Mrs. Norris 
murmured, but I haven’t spoken to him.” 

'' That’s all right, darling, I will.” She blessed her 
mother’s incomprehensible tact, and ran down. 

In the lit hall, by his sister’s side, Lucy was standing 
in his ancient fur-lined overcoat, holding his old felt hat, 
staring at the floor ; his chin sunk, his lower lip stuck 
out. As Claire approached, he tried to speak, stopped 
to clear his throat, and then brought out, in his usual 
rather precise way : “ It’s Russell ” ; but there was a 
pale ring round his mouth. 

Henrietta handed her the telegram, repeating calmly, 
“ It’s Russell.” 

Claire accepted the paper dumbly, but she did not 
read it. She took one of her friend’s hands, which was 
very cold, and looked anxiously at her face, which was 
frozen-calm. 

Well ” said Lucy, uncertainly, making an abortive 

movement. Then he slapped his pocket and his eyebrows 
twitched above his glasses. I suppose there’s no use 
staying here.” 

“ No,” his sister agreed, and began at once to tremble 


THE RENT IN THE CURTAINS 79 

violently. Her teeth knocked together as she added : 

I’ll go up and get my things.” 

‘‘ Shall I come home with you ? ” asked Claire, with a 
feeling of abysmal uselessness. 

''No. I shall be all right in a minute. Oh, Claire ! ” 
She turned into Claire’s arms, but no tears came : only 
the ague increased. Lucy stared at the front door. 

" I’ll fetch your things. Sit there, my darling,” said 
Claire, leading her to a seat, and kissing her, '' I shan’t 
be a minute.” 

She glanced back as she ran upstairs, and saw that her 
friend was leaning back against the wall with her eyes 
closed ; Lucy still stood with averted face ; they 
appeared unconscious of each other. And yet, she knew, 
a profound sympathy and affection existed between 
them ; more profound than their feelings for their brother, 
of whose death the telegram had brought news. She had 
time to be glad that this was a lesser tragedy than many ; 
and yet, knowing how deep was Henrietta’s capacity for 
suffering, and thinking Lucy’s to be equal, she felt a huge 
resentment against death : a pity at once vast and acute 
for the sensitive, proud, vulnerable pair. 

She snatched up the cloak and shoes from Pauline’s 
bed. In this room, she, her sister and Henrietta had 
lolled and talked yesterday afternoon, tired out with 
polishing the floor and directing the moving of furniture ; 
and all the time Russell had been lying dead in a field in 
France ; and in other fields, a thousand other brothers, 
English and German, Austrian and French, Russian 
and Itahan. . . . Horrible . . . Nightmarish ... In- 
credible . . . 

In a twinkling she was back on the ground floor. 
Henrietta got up, still shaking, and put on her coat. 
Claire knelt and took off her friend’s green shoes which 
Lucy put in his pocket. She went to the dining-room 
door and told one of the maids behind the buffet to get a 
taxi. The maid came out into the dreadful silence — a 
silence on which the sound and rhythm of the syncopated 


8o QUIET INTERIOR 

dance tune and the shuffle of feet upstairs, beat in vain, 
as on a closed door. It was as though a crystal coffin 
enclosed them. 

“ I’ll come round early to-morrow,” said Claire. 
Henrietta nodded, clenching her teeth to prevent their 
chattering. Claire laid a hand on Lucy’s arm, and 
murmured “ Good night.” Then, realising that she was 
still somehow grasping the telegram she offered it to him. 
Exclaiming Bloody ! ” with suppressed but extreme 
violence, he thrust it in his pocket. 

They all lingered miserably for a long time until the 
taxi came. Claire took her friend’s arm, and as they 
went down the steps in the cold night air, she became 
aware that Henrietta was crying. At the last, Lucy put 
his head out of the cab-window, and said : Thanks 
awfully, Claire,” and she paused, judging by his tone he 
was disposed to add something. However, he merely 
said, ** Right ! ” to the driver, and sank back into the 
murky interior. 

She went slowly upstairs, conscious of little but ex- 
haustion. Another interval was in progress, and she had 
to pass two couples sitting on the staircase and to exchange 
suitable remarks. Bill was standing by himself half-way 
up the flight to her mother’s room. They looked at each 
other, and she shrugged her shoulders ; the yoimg man 
frowned deeply. She went on past him, past the second 
floor to the third, and entered Pauline’s room. 

Pauline was arranging her dress before the glass, but 
she turned quickly and said : What’s up ? Is Henri- 
etta seedy ? Bill is being so very serious.” 

Russell is dead,” Claire answered. He’s been killed.” 

Pauline was astounded. Her mind was unable to 
conceive that tragedy was even remotely connected with 
her ; it was as though some one had introduced a notorious 
criminal as her long-lost brother. Russell ? ” she 
echoed, incredulously. Why, good Lord ! . . .” and 
then, as though questioning the truth of a rumour. 
When did they hear ? ” 


THE RENT IN THE CURTAINS 8i 

'' I don’t know. To-night. Lucy came to tell Henri- 
etta.” 

Didn’t they say which day he ? ” 

Claire sat down suddenly on the edge of the white bed, 
and answered : Does it matter ? ” 

Good heavens ! ” her sister murmured to herself, 
looking amazedly about, and, as she assimilated the 
news, paled slowly. How perfectly horrible ! . . . 
Claire ! . . . Isn’t it too dreadful ? ” 

The other dragged herself wearily to her feet ; the 
party had to go on. She wondered if Clement had 
noticed her absence from the room. She had danced 
with him four times at the beginning of the evening, and 
was engaged to him for four more consecutive dances, 
which must be almost due. 

Do any of them know ? ” asked Pauline. 

'' Bill does.” Claire opened the door, but her sister’s 
peremptory inarticulate exclamation stopped her. 
Well,” she asked shortly. 

” What are you going to do ? ” 

I’m not going to do anything.” Then, with a sudden 
loss of her weary irritation, she closed the door, and 
coming back, said, Do you mind dreadfully, Pauly ? 
Were you awfully fond of him ? ” 

It was Pauline who now sank on to the bed, and at this 
question she dropped her eyes to the floor with an 
evasive expression which her family had christened her 
fib-face.” Perceiving this, Claire experienced a sudden 
passionate unwillingness to be the recipient of a lie, how- 
ever white, however appropriate and decorous, and she 
added impulsively : ” Don’t talk about it if you’d rather 
not, my dear; only I’m sorry I was cross just now.” 
In the pause that followed she was conscious of relief 
that Pauline had not retorted, ” But I want to talk about 
it.” Instead, she had risen, gone over to the dressing- 
table, and from there answered with an unfamiliar tone 
of shyness. 

” Well, no ; to be honest, I wasn’t fearfully devoted 
£ 


82 QUIET INTERIOR 

to him. Poor Russell. But still, it does make me feel 
pretty rotten. He was so keen on things, and on the 
things he meant to do. What books call the ‘ life of the 

party.' It’s dreadful to think of him as ” 

“ Damnable.” 

“ And then, he was rather keen on me, you know, and 
that makes me feel sort of responsible. You know what 
I mean, Claire ? ” 

'' Of course it does ; I know.” 

There was a silence ; then Pauline said : Well, I 
suppose we must go down.” 

Not till you want to. Don’t hurry. It’s much 
better to face it at once.” 

Yes, I suppose it is. But I don’t see how you know.” 

Everybody knows things like that. It’s better to 
take hold of it hard, and realise the worst part.” 

What is the worst part ? ” Pauline came over to her 
sister, and together they stood near the door. She 
seemed completely trustful of her elder’s wisdom ; com- 
pletely serious and sincere. 

It is, I suppose,” said Claire slowly, thinking with 
concentration of Henrietta, that you will never see him 
again.” 


CHAPTER VII 
Gifts 

Claire told Clement that night that she was going to 
breakfast punctually so as to arrive early at the Lincolns’ 
flat. He said he would do the same, and walk part of 
the way with her, thereby making the most of his last 
days of leave. He was due back in camp in the evening. 

It was a very cold January morning, with a slate-grey 
sky that threatened snow. Claire in her black fur coat, 
Clement in his British warm, started off across the almost 
deserted park at half-past nine. Claire was tired and 
without emotion. She was glad, always glad to be with 
Clement, and she knew that anything she wished to say 
could better be said to him than to any other, but her 
mind was benumbed, her heart empty. W ar mt h and light , 
sorrow and pleasure, would come flooding back to them ; 
but it would be after he had left her. And soon he too 
would be in direst danger of a fate like Russell Lincoln’s. 
She shivered against the cold wind. There seemed at 
present only slate-grey lifelessness and helpless fear. 

They did not talk much, and in Piccadilly, parted, to 
meet again at lunch. 

Claire found Henrietta in the small kitchen, washing 
up the breakfast dishes, and, discarding her coat, she took 
a cloth and began to dry the cups and plates. 

How late did you dance ? ” 

One o’clock.” 

“ When does Clement go back ? ” 

This evening.” 

Oh, Claire, what a shame ! You ought to have the 
whole of to-day with him.” 

My dear child, there’s the whole afternoon. Besides, 

83 


84 QUIET INTERIOR 

I wanted to come.” Presently she said : Do you remember 
that Sunday when we went for a walk ? I thought that 
morning you’d been crying. Was it about Russell ? ” 

'' No. Yes — partly. I knew that Ypres Canal was 
fearfully dangerous ; and then I knew Clement would be 
joining up soon, and that you’d be dismal ; and then 
Bill was in it too. Everything seemed too beastly.” 

How did you sleep ? ” Claire asked ; but she was 
wondering, not for the first time, whether Bill and 
Henrietta did not care more for each other than either 
admitted. 

Very well. I slept till nine. We’ve only just finished 
breakfast, as a matter of fact. Lucy’s gone to the office, 
but he’s going to come home after lunch. I suppose we 
shall have to try and discover where father is so as to let 
him know.” 

” Do you think he’s in England ? ” 

No, I don’t. He’d have turned up if he had been. 
When Lucy and I used to talk anxiously about his 
possible appearance, Russell always said he ‘ could make 
rings round father.’ Oh, Claire, you know, I wasn’t 
particularly wrapped up in Russell ; I’d mind far more 
if it was Lucy. But oh, Claire, it is dreadful. I can’t 
believe he’s dead. I can’t believe he doesn’t exist any 
more. I’m sure people don’t go on living afterwards ; 
I don’t want to think that they do ; they wouldn’t be 
them without their bodies. But isn’t it too horrible to 
bear ? — that, however much I loved him and longed and 
longed to see him, I couldn’t — ^not if he’d been every- 
thing in the world to me. . . . We’ve had a letter. . . . 
They say he died at once. ... If only it wasn’t multi- 
plied so, I could bear it ; but it’s happening everywhere. 
All the poor Germans — ^the poor wives : that’s what I 
can’t bear. Standing up and killing each other. They’re 
all mad, as they consent to it ; they must all be mad, 
except you and me and a few others. How could they all 
consent if they were sane ? It isn’t sanity. It’s a night- 
mare. I can’t believe it’s going on.” 


GIFTS 85 

She had laid down the plate she was washing, and 
stood, holding her wet hands away from her skirt, so that 
they dripped only on to the floor ; she stood, palely 
staring at Claire, who went on drying the cleansed 
crockery as she answered : ‘'I know. I was thinking 
as I got your coat last night that there were thousands 
like you, and much, much worse. But don’t you see, 
Henrietta, it’s not the same for people who believe it’s 
right as it is for us ? They think their relations have 
died for liberty. You know, if you saw a man beating 
a child you’d attack him. You might even kill him ; 
well, it’s like that.” 

But the poor soldiers themselves,” the other girl 
went on, unheeding, pouring out her accumulated 
thoughts, '' in agony and mutilated and blind, and their 
nerves gone ! You know some of the wounded ones 
can’t sleep, and scream in air-raids. It can’t be worth 
it, to do that for patriotism. Besides, who knows it is 
for liberty ? I’d rather be German, than be separated 
from the people I love. It’s like death to be separated.” 

Claire’s thought flew to Clement ; and immediately 
came back to her despairing friend. 

Yes,” she said, for she couldn’t disagree, '' you 
know I think the same as you. Only the soldiers think 
they’re fighting for liberty, too — it’s not only the people 
at home who believe it. After all, most people would far 
rather be English, and they think if they don’t fight, 
England will cease to exist . . . And oh, my dear,” she 
went on, taking Henrietta’s cold, wet hands, we must 
simply set our teeth and stick it ; because they have to. 
Everything is just as bad and worse for them. Perhaps 
they adore being alive, and have to die. Or perhaps they 
leave jobs they love, so as to join the army. So we must 
bear it too.” She deliberately did not refer to what 
Henrietta had said was like death.” ” The jobs they 
loved ” was a euphemism ; and speaking so, she thought 
first of Bill — ^because she was feeling for and through 
her friend — and only secondly of Clement. Holding 


86 QUIET INTERIOR 

Henrietta’s hands tightly, she went on. I know it 
isn’t for me to jaw, because I’m not hurt, but you 
know, darling, I feel it too, because of you. And because 
of poor Lucy.” 

The reference to her brother affected Henrietta sud- 
denly ; she dragged away her hands, and putting them to 
her face, turned to the wall. Presently she dried her 
eyes and said more calmly : ” After all. I’m very lucky. 
Thank God in Heaven Lucy is so delicate.” 

“ Oh, I say, I forgot to tell you, Henrietta, that Bill 
said he was coming round between six and nine, if he 
could get away.” 

Henrietta’s face showed a faint reflection of pleasure. 
** Well, I hope I shall have recovered my normal appear- 
ance by then,” she replied, with an echo of her usual 
tart ness. 

Don’t be silly,” said Claire, ” you know Bill doesn’t 
mind what sort of an old guy you look like.” 

** I dare say not ; but I do. And if he doesn’t, he 

ought to. I say, Claire, tell me ” she paused ; and 

from her tone, despite the form of words, her friend could 
not judge whether a confidence, or a demand for a 
confidence, would follow. 

'' Well, what is it ? ” 

” Are you — ^have you ever ? ” 

The two girls looked deeply and silently into each 
other’s eyes. 

” Yes,” said Claire ; and as Henrietta’s cold violence 
had thawed a few moments ago, her own grey numbness 
melted at this avowal, and tears sprang to her eyes. 
Without further conversation, they kissed each other, 
and together finished the house-work. 

When Claire got back to the house in Westminster it 
was noon. She heard loud conversation in the back 
drawing-room and recognised the voice of Ivor Webb 
whose labours at the War Office seemed, she reflected, to 
leave him plenty of time for philandering. Captain 
Webb’s presence was not sufficient, however, to account 


GIFTS 87 

for such a commotion, and when she entered, greeted by 
cries, she perceived two puppies sprawling and prancing 
on the floor, a tiny brindled bull-dog, and a ball of grey 
fluff with a disproportionately large head. Pauline on 
her knees exclaimed : 

** The bull is for me, Claire ; and the chow for you. 
Aren’t they too adorable ? ” 

Claire stood silent by the door. At last she said : 

Where did they come from ? ” 

** I got them in Bond Street,” said Clement, there 
was a shop window full of dogs and cats, and these two 
were there.” 

I know — pink cubicles,” said Pauline. 

” That’s it.” 

Oh thank you, Clement,” was all that Claire could 
bring out. She glanced round with an instinct of flight, 
and saw Ivor Webb’s small, cold, yet expressive eyes 
attentively watching her. Pauline rose with the brindled 
pup in her arms. The chow pranced after her, biting at 
her skirt. Hi,” she cried, ” stop it, you little devil ! ” 

'' You can’t call him Hi,” objected Ivor Webb, 
” unless it’s short for Hi Lung Chang.” 

** Thomas,” said Pauline. ” Thomas is Clement's 
second name — did you know, Claire ? ” 

It seems rather apostolic,” Captain Webb remarked. 

” Ought Chow to be apostolic, too ? ” Clement asked, 
and Pauline began repeating the names of the Twelve 
under her breath. 

” What about Baroubadoura, Princess of China ? ” 
Ivor suggested. 

” But she was a lidy ; who was her young man ? ” 

“ Caramalzaman — one of them.” 

” Some mouthful.” 

” Well, Claire could always call him Caramel, for short.” 

During this colloquy the new owner of the chow stood 
still and silent, a little behind the others who were grouped 
round the playing puppies. She felt a stillness and a 
silence round her, separating her from her companions. 


88 QUIET INTERIOR 

and though their voices smote her ears, though their 
bodies moved before her, no word of theirs found an 
echo in her heart ; no appeal from them reached the 
essential her. Clement, bending and smiling towards the 
floor was removed from her a thousand yards, a thousand 
years ; she saw him begin to raise himself and brush his 
head in doing so against her sister’s arm ; a lock of his 
hair was ruffled when he stood up, and his face flushed a 
little — perhaps from his recent posture. The discussion 
concerning suitable names went on. 

Mrs. Norris entered in a motoring bonnet with a long 
mole-coloured veil, in which she looked like an expensive 
Quaker. My dears,” she cried, have you got these 
little dogs on approval ? ” 

“ No, mother,” her younger daughter answered her, 

there’s no getting rid of them.” 

“ Oh, Pauline, what a dear little dog. And what kind 
is this — a Pomeranian ? ” 

“ Mother ! It’s a Chow ” 

'' A Chinese Mandarin,” Ivor supplemented. 

A Chow ! I thought they were yellow. Where did 
they come from ? ” 

Clement bought them in Bond Street.” 

“ Oh, Clement — as presents for my girls ? How kind 
oCyou. You must show them to Tom.” 

Pauline looked a little doubtful. 

You’ve been out, Claddie ? ” her mother went on. 

Yes, to see Henrietta.” 

This brought down a brief silence on the party. Mrs. 
Norris rose vaguely, and began to undo her coat. It’s 
nearly lunch time, my dears,” she said. 

Clement opened the door for her, and as Claire followed 
her upstairs, the voices of Pauline and the two men broke 
out again. 

“ How is the poor child ? ” Mrs. Norris asked, turning 
upon the threshold of her room. 

“ Oh, mother, it’s dreadful,” Claire answered. '' Aren’t 
you glad you only had daughters ? ” 


GIFTS 89 

** I don’t know, darling ... Yes, perhaps . . . But 
mothers have a lot to be proud of these days, as well as a 
lot to bear.” 

Claire had a sudden intuition. ” Do you wish one of 
us was a boy ? ” she asked. 

‘ ' No, darling, no. I couldn’t bear to lose either of you.” 

Claire was about to continue her way upstairs when a 
further idea struck her. Is it that you wish we were 
doing something — for the war, I mean ? Are you 
ashamed of us ? ” 

Oh no, Claddie dear. I know if it was necessary you’d 
do anything. Don’t worry, dear. I like you to do 
whatever you think best.” 

Claire went slowly upstairs. There was so much to 
think over ; it would take her many hours of solitude to 
sort out the ideas she had accumulated this morning ; 
her conversation with Henrietta and its implications ; 
Clement’s impulsive purchase and gift ; the gay group in 
the back drawing-room, and the atmosphere and her own 
dumbness and isolation in the face of it ; and then her 
brief colloquy with Mrs. Norris and the thoughts to which 
it had immediately given rise. These occupied her 
most at the moment. What about father, she wondered 
as she took off her things ; does he mind not having a 
son to '' give ” ? Her thought was tinged with the 
bitterness which few of her cast of mind could escape in 
those days of war. She sympathised with her mother’s 
feelings, although she considered them sentimental ; 
but her mother was not a fire-breather. She would prob- 
ably have been equally proud — ^though with a vague 
sensation of embarrassment — ^had she possessed an 
English son and a German son fighting on different sides. 
Her pride and admiration of courage, though not emotions 
of high quality, were genuine enough to cut across con- 
ventions. She had heard her mother utter statements 
concerning war and the war which on another’s tongue 
Tom Norris would have condemned violently as disloyal, 
traitorous, pacifist, socialistic and vile, but which, when 


90 QUIET INTERIOR 

uttered mildly and inconsequently by his wife, he 
appeared to take perfectly for granted. Claire had 
listened with a sickened heart when he spoke of the 
sacrifices of his friends who had given ” sons or nephews 
to the army, but it had not before occurred to her that he 
might regret having no living donation to make himself. 
Pondering this frustration of paternity, she began to feel 
almost sorry for him ; perhaps his friends at the club 
patronised him or even openly commiserated with him 
on the sex of his offspring. And his girls weren’t even 
in uniform. Pauline he could feel proud of, merely on 
account of her looks and liveliness ; her air of successful 
all-conquering youth was enough ; but what had she, 
Claire, done to justify her existence in his eyes ? Before 
the war, to be a girl was sufficient reason for idleness, but 
the war had changed the views of even the most con- 
ventional on this subject. And yet, Claire reflected, 
even in this there was a great deal of sham ; for Mr. 
Norris and his like were satisfied with the merest 
semblance of doing ; a son, gilded and enscarleted, on 
the staff ; a girl, decoratively occupied a few hours a 
day at nursing, sewing, driving an official car — either was 
sufficient food for parental vanity ; real patriotism, 
sacrifice or labour might be academically admired by 
them ; but the counterfeit presentment pleased them 
equally well. Their smug talk and feelings seemed to 
belong to a different world, a different race from that in 
which men were really killed, from that to which Russell 
and Henrietta belonged. Claire felt herself stand between 
the two — a connecting link, a hovering spirit, neither 
facilely contented nor yet deeply distraught, dwelling 
neither in the incredible bleak landscape of reality, nor 
yet among the padded cushions and pinpricks and 
decanters of her father’s southern, sheltered, cigar- 
scented arbour ; but somewhere between and yet apart, 
surveying both ; testifying to the truth of one, tolerantly 
despising the other, from the still fastidious fortress of a 
quiet interior. 


CHAPTER VIII 
Skeletons in the Cupboard 

It was the habit of the Norrises — and in this they had 
adapted themselves quickly from the provincial to the 
metropoUtan habit — ^to lead separate existences, joining 
forces only for meals and on specific occasions. They 
arranged to do certain things together as formally as 
though they lived in different houses. Mr. Norris was 
often away in the Midlands, nursing a constituency ; and 
even when he was at home his days were much occupied. 
He usually contrived to spend an hour or two in the back 
drawing-room each evening, because theoretically he 
believed in patriarchal conditions, and he had an ill- 
defined idea that his presence had a salutary effect on 
the morals of his children ; but even this sacred hour was 
sometimes allowed to give way before pressing engage- 
ments, such as city dinners or committee meetings at 
which he and his colleagues dealt kindly but firmly with 
discontented and exacting Belgians. He was interested 
in various philanthropic organisations, particularly those 
brought into existence or prominence by the war. 

A few days after the dance, when he was away at 
Leicester, Claire and Mrs. Norris sat alone at breakfast. 
Pauhne was still in bed after a late night. 

It was raining, and Claire’s interest in life was at low 
ebb. She had not heard from Clement as she hoped ; 
he was a bad correspondent ; and writing to him gave her 
little satisfaction ; the things she must not say loomed so 
large. She began to wonder how to pass the day — 
whether it would not be more sensible and comfortable to 
have work to do. She had not Pauline’s insatiable 


91 


92 QUIET INTERIOR 

appetite for society ; she had not, nor wished to have, 
Pauline’s large number of more or less intimate acquaint- 
ances. She had, since the autumn, been spending almost 
all her time with Henrietta ; but Henrietta resembled 
one side of herself too closely to be a continuously 
stimulating companion ; she voiced Claire’s amusement 
at ridiculous externals, her revolt, her longing for the 
Kingdom of Heaven on earth ; but she did not encourage 
or soothe as Clement’s mere presence did. Perhaps, 
Claire thought, this was merely to say that friendship is 
no substitute for love. She meant no disloyalty to her 
friend, there was no decline in admiration or tenderness. 
But she had to admit that the ideal companionship for 
her was not to be found in the flat at Bloomsbury. 

Lucy the silent, sunk in the armour- like inertia of the 
sensitive and the overworked, Henrietta the mocker, at 
war with existence — ^they had her great affection, her 
trust, her pity, her respect ; but for her own need she 
found herself turning now rather to solitude and the 
company of Matthew. Every morning she lifted her 
eyes to the wintry planes outside her window, and the 
grey chimneys beyond, and dropped them to the grey, 
fluffy, lively little dog at her feet ; and there seemed in 
this action something at once comforting and dis- 
ciplinary ; it symbolised the growth, instinctively fostered 
tlurough recent months, of self-dependance and hidden 
strength. Thus, her trouble had come to be easier borne 
in solitude ; she found that the presence of others made 
her restless and uneasy, and although, as to-day, her 
mind sometimes turned for a solution of her problem to 
exterior distractions — ^work, society, a definitely active 
life — such a tendency was merely momentary ; she knew 
her real solace and the source of her never-wavering 
determination to lie within. 

Here’s a letter from Hilary,” said Mrs. Norris, break- 
ing a long silence. ” What a pity Tom is away.” For a 
fiction was maintained that Mr. Norris was devoted to 
his absent child. 


93 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 

You can send it on.” 

“Yes. Listen to this : ‘ I think I shall come back in 
the spring. I’m longing to see you all. Petrograd is 
rather odious after all.’ ” 

“ I wonder if she really will ? ” said Claire sceptically. 

“ Why not, darling ? How nice it will be all to be 
together again. I expect Hilary is ever so much changed. 
She’s done such a lot. The war has done a lot for women. 
Just give me your father’s letters, Claddie.” 

Mr. Norris, with a faith in her judgment and method 
at which his daughters marvelled, always had his letters 
opened in his absence by his wife, who decided which were 
to be sent on. The top envelope of the pile before even 
Mrs. Norris had opened it called forth an exclamation of 
annoyance. 

“ ^^at is it, mother ? ” Claire asked, as she glanced 
down Hilary’s sheets of ornamental writing. 

“ Get me the telegraph forms will you, dear ? ” her 
mother said in a preoccupied voice. “ Or shall I tele- 
phone ? No, I’ll wire.” 

The girl gave her the pad, and with some curiosity 
watched her mother write and delete and ponder over the 
pencilled words ; she seemed vaguely agitated. But in 
answer to Claire’s repeated “ What’s the matter ? ” 
Mrs. Norris merely exclaimed “ There ! ” with the air of 
one who has accomplished a tricky task. A maid was 
summoned and bore off the form. 

“ Now, perhaps we can get on with our breakfast. 
Pour me out some more coffee, darling. Isn’t it nice 
about Hilary ? I’m so glad Russia’s a success.” 

“ But she says it’s odious,” Claire pointed out. 

“ Ah, but Hilary’s exaggerated in the words she uses, 
just like you are. I’m so glad she’s begun to think of 
home. Tom will be so pleased ; he doesn’t altogether 
like her roaming about everywhere and becoming quite 
intimate with absolute strangers.” 

Claire wondered silently at what point of intimacy 
persons ceased to be absolute strangers. And was 


94 QUIET INTERIOR 

mother talking to cover up the mysterious letter and the 
telegram or not ? Will Pauline have to give up her 
room ? ” she asked presently. 

Oh, I don’t think so, darling. Not after all this 
time, and Tom having it done up specially last year. 
Hilary can have the small front room. You don’t want 
to change, do you ? ” 

Rather not.” 

” That’s all right then. We’re all pleased.” 

And, as though this led her to the memory of those to 
whom fate was less amiable, she went on : ” What about 
Henrietta ? Won’t you ask her to dinner to-night, poor 
little girl ? ” 

” That’s sweet of you, mother dear,” Claire answered, 
much touched ; for Henrietta was not a favourite of her 
family’s, and spontaneous invitations such as this were 
sheer kindness. ” But she won’t go anywhere,” Claire 
went on, ” She says she’s too much of a firebrand wrapped 
up in a wet blanket.” 

” Poor child. Wouldn’t you like to take her some sweets, 
Claddie ? Or some flowers ? Get her some from me. Even 
modern girls like to know they’re remembered.” 

” Modern girls don’t allow their parents to keep dark 
secrets from them,” Claire retorted. ” Why mother, 
Alice could read the wire, and yet I couldn’t.” 

” Is it this letter you’re worrying about, dear ? ” 

” Yes, and your agitated air. What’s it all about ? 
Out with it, mother. Or is it only business ? ” She was 
sure that it was not business ; but she gave her mother 
a loophole whereby she could escape a downright refusal. 
Mrs. Norris, however, fixed her eyes with unusual 
steadiness on her daughter’s face, and answered : 

” I don’t want to shock you, dear.” 

” You can’t do that.” 

” I mean, I don’t want to give you a shock — ^yet after 
all, you’re a big girl.” She stretched out her hand, and 
Claire, drawing her chair nearer to the head of the table, 
took it in her own. 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 95 

“ Fm very nearly of age,” she said. “ The heir is 
always told about the family skeleton when he comes 
of age. Seriously, mother, tell me. You looked so 
worried.” 

“ It’s a long story,” said Mrs. Norris doubtfully. 

'' Well, we’ve got all day.” 

I don’t think Tom would object . . . No, I’m sure 
he wouldn’t. He’s so straightforward. But, of course, 
he wouldn’t tell you unless you asked. It’s nothing 
dreadful, dear — nothing to be ashamed of at all. When 
Tom was quite young, almost a boy, he had a love affair 
with a girl. Her father kept a public house. There was 
nothing wrong about this love affair ; it wasn’t even very 
serious. But Tom had a great friend, what they call a 
' boon-companion,’ and he was in love with this girl too. 
And he did do wrong. Well, her father found out that 
she — ^that they had done wrong, and he made Tom’s 
friend promise to marry her.” 

Well ? ” 

He did marry her, although he couldn’t really afford 
it. And Tom somehow felt that he was partly to blame. 
Of course he wasn’t. It was what is called quixotic. 
He’d only flirted with her. But he felt he was equally to 
blame with his friend. And of course neither of them 
had meant to marry an innkeeper’s daughter ! Nor to 
get married so young. Tom was a junior clerk in the 
works then. He got on very quickly. But his friend 
didn’t. He went on having children and being poorer 
and getting into debt, and Tom felt responsible. He 
started a savings’ bank account for the eldest child, who 
is his god-daughter. Then, just before our wedding, 
his friend died. Of course your father told me all about 
it, and we arranged to pay the poor widow a pension — 
quite a tiny one. She’s quite elderly now — more your 
father’s age than mine. He’s always taken a great 
interest in the family. One of the boys is in the works. 
The eldest girl — ^Tom’s god-child — married a miner ; but 
he drinks.” 


96 QUIET INTERIOR 

And what about the letter to-day ? 

“ Oh, that was to say that Edie — ^the eldest — is worse; 
she’s been ill a long time. And they want to operate, 
and will Tom pay for a specialist to see her first ? ” 

Well I’m blowed. Any other little thing ? ” 

You see, darling, they look on him as a kind of guardian.” 

” Evidently,” said Claire. ” Mother ! How perfectly 
sweet of father. I hope they appreciate his kindness. 
I should think it was quixotic ! Why, they have 
absolutely no claim on him.” She was not only 
astonished at the new light on her father, but still 
more at her mother’s old knowledge and calm approval 
of his actions. She realised the confidence that must 
have existed between them when — ^he not more than 
thirty, she scarcely more than twenty — they planned, 
at the time of setting up house, to pension the widow of 
a friend. It explained her father’s absolute confidence 
and frank admiration of her mother, if explanation were 
needed. Then, as Claire sat there, another thought 
struck her. Wiat if her father’s part-responsibility for 
the misfortune of the publican’s daughter had been, not 
imaginary, but real ? — ^that would explain his actions ; 
only, knowing this, her mother would not have told her. 
No ; whatever the truth was, Mrs. Norris probably 
believed implicitly in the nobility of his part in the story, 
But then, this confidence she had admired — could it be 
(based on a lie) a real, solid thing ? If her mother was 
really deceived, did that not make her father’s pseudo- 
candour worse than wholesale deception ? But could 
Mrs. Norris be deceived ? Perhaps she knew, and he 
knew she knew, the truth ; neither of them admitting it. 
Was Claire, then, expected to play up ? She found it 
hard to believe in her father’s complete innocence ; and 
yet wasn’t that odious and sordid of her ? Where, after 
all, was his shame in having loved a publican’s daughter 
illicitly, and having at least tacitly acknowledged to his 
betrothed his previous fault and his intended reparation ? 
There was no shame in it at all. 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 97 

There was something, too, entertaining to the mind of 
Claire in the idea that Edie, the wife of a drunken miner, 
was perhaps of closer kin to her than the refined, worldly 
and much-travelled Hilary. She pondered on the situa- 
tion. Of course her father would pay the specialist’s fee, and 
pay for Edie’s operation, and for the subsequent holiday 
and for the mother’s-help to care for Edie’s offspring 
(her, Claire’s, nieces and nephews ?) while Edie was away ; 
just as he paid hers and Pauline’s and Hilary’s dentist’s 
bills and for holidays and music lessons. And it was, 
according to worldly standards, very nice and generous of 
him. Claire found herself sympathising with him for the 
second time recently. Even his (supposedly) illegitimate 
child was a daughter — he had not even a secret and 
discreditable cause for pride. “ Poor father,” she thought, 

if what he wanted was a son, he’s had hard luck all 
round.” And then mother had had the stupidity to 
adopt yet another girl ! There was not even an adopted 
son to give for England. Claire wondered if this was 
a genuine grief to him ; which brought her to the reflection 
of how little she knew him. How mysterious our parents 
are ; what a barrier divides them from us. A story such 
as she had heardto-day only made them more mysterious. 
It showed her a glimpse of their intricate past, and made 
her realise how multiform and full and varied it was, 
reaching back and back, out and out ; but she was cut 
off from it. In that past she had been conceived, and 
doubtless some of its significance was implicit in her ; but 
the connection was as obscure and tenuous as the connec- 
tion between her daily life and the strange incommuni- 
cable life of nightly dreams. That past corresponded, she 
knew, in many respects, to the present — ^her parents had 
moved, unconscious of transition, from one to the other ; 
and yet she could almost believe that when alone they 
murmured together in some strange tongue of things 
alien and incomprehensible, belonging to the time when 
they were young, and their children unborn. 

Mother,” she said, and was about to add : '‘is it 


g 


98 QUIET INTERIOR 

very different being middle-aged ? " but she shirked the 
possibility of having to explain her question and its 
implications, and substituted : “ Does Hilary know ? ” 
It was a spurious question, for she was certain that Hilary 
did not know ; but coming so readily to her lips, it showed 
how firmly lodged her adopted sister was in the position 
of eldest Miss Norris. The adult equivalent of the 
childish rights of primogeniture which Hilary had enjoyed 
-—popping the fattest fuschia-buds in the green house, going 
last to bed, and so on — still appertained to her in the 
minds of her family. 

No, darhng. Tve never had any — er — occasion to 
tell her. Give me her letter. It will be jolly to have her 
home. -She’s hardly been in London at all. And you 
and Pauly are quite Londoners now, aren’t you ? We 
shall have to celebrate her home-coming somehow, shan’t 
we ? ” 

“ Yes,” Claire agreed without enthusiasm. She was 
still following her own train of thought : parents and 
children. “ Shall I suddenly find myself middle-aged ? ” 
she wondered. “ Are elderly people quite cut off from 
young ones ? Perhaps only a little bit more than young 
ones are from their contemporaries. Yet there seems to 
be some bond between middle-aged people. But I 
expect they think there is between us. And so there is, 
with regard to them, though we don’t admit it. Pauline 
and I have never said a word about it, and yet often 
we feel it’s us against father and mother. But very 
often it’s Pauline against me, just as much. Can’t one 
be friends with one’s parents ? Middle-aged people need 
everything explained to them ; that’s what makes it so 
tiresome and difficult and spoils it. I suppose clever 
ones don’t. Shall I be stupid when I’m forty and my 
children are fifteen ? ” ... She realised then that she had 
leapt several stages and endowed herself with a family ; 
the realisation brought her up short with a rush of pain to 
her side. If she had children, they would be Clement’s ; 
she could conceive no other possibility ; and if Clement 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 99 

married her, that meant he loved her. So far, he 
did not love her. Love! This silence, this rush 
of pain, was what books and operas were all about. 
Schubert’s and Schumann’s songs, which Pauline sang; 
Faur6’s and Hahn’s, and Brahms’ Saphische Ode, 
and Heine’s songs. Poetry ! She remembered a book 
that Henrietta had given her for Christmas which she 
had scarcely read : Love Poems by somebody Lawrence. 
And then Rupert Brooke. Henrietta had said his love 
poems were good. Henrietta was always giving and 
lending her books of modern poetry. They were just as 
much about love as Tennyson and Swinburne and 
Morris and the poems in the Oxford Book. All the books 
in the world were about love. Every one knew, or had 
known, this heavy pain which hurt her side and which 
yet had its origin in her brain, and which was some- 
how identified with silence. Her mother and father 
had felt it ; yes, and perhaps Pauline too ; no, she 
thought not, hoped not. “ Love hurts,” she said ; and 
she suspected that no ache of Pauline’s would have gone 
so long unavowed. Henrietta, of course, knew, even if 
she had never experienced it : she had a varied although 
vicarious range of experience drawn from books, and from 
her imagination and her conversations with people of both 
sexes. When Henrietta had asked her, Have you 
ever ? ” — and she had replied ” Yes,” each knew what 
the other meant ; but somehow, Claire had been so 
intent on her friend’s trouble, and later on the actuality 
of Clement’s presence and her own relationship to him, 
that she had never till now examined it theoretically ; 
had never inquired into the significance of Henrietta’s 
question and her reply. Thinking about it now, she came 
to the conclusion — an erroneous though inevitable 
conclusion — ^that the theory of love is completely different 
from its reality. Not only the pain, but the delight was 
different. She must tell Henrietta, some day : Henrietta, 
with her passion for truth, had a right to know — if she 
had not already discovered it for herself. She knew such 


100 QUIET INTERIOR 

a lot ; she had said, Separation is like death.” At the 
time, Claire had only in passing hurriedly, as it were, 
saluted the dreadful accuracy of the statement ; the 
urgency of the moment had carried her past it. But 
now, she could face it and recognise that the numbness 
in her heart had a death-like quality. . . . She got up 
and went down the long room to the window, and began 
to stare out at the rain. 

Don’t be idiotic,” she said to herself. '' There’s 
nothing tragic in it. Clement hasn’t even gone abroad 
yet. If this is the worst you ever have to suffer ! . . . ” 

She heard, without turning, her mother leave the room, 
and presently Matthew, who had followed Mrs. Norris out, 
began scratching the door to get in again. Claire 
admitted him, and rang for the maid to clear. While 
the clearance went on she fed Matthew with bits of 
bread dipped in coffee. The presence of Matthew dis- 
tinctly eased her heart. His connection with Clement 
made him Clement’s most dangerous rival. Watching 
her chow insert his blunt little face into a basin of 
milk and water, Claire thought of Bond. Bond 
was dead. She would like to have possessed him. 
Besides old Mr. Parsons and the sheepdog, whom had 
Clement loved ? Nobody ; he had no friends beside 
herself and the one or two he was acquiring during 
his period of military service. She told herself with 
pride that she was his greatest friend; but that proud 
position left her extremely vulnerable to the shafts 
of fate ; and, without realising her vulnerability, she 
was beset by an obscme dim fear. Not for the first 
time the future cast a chill invisible shadow across her 
heart, and she shivered a little in apprehension, while 
Matthew raised his face from the empty bowl and licked 
his chops with a blue exotic tongue. 

As has been stated, the members of the Norris family 
led independent existences. Claire and Pauline were 
not continuously conscious of each other’s moods, and 


lOI 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 

customarily took no more than a civil passing notice of 
each other’s actions. Unusual excitement, extreme 
depression, sharp irritation, might provoke a comment, 
but the subtler, more secret and less defined variations 
in spirits or conduct passed, if not on Claire’s part un- 
noticed, at least without calling forth a remark. Several 
times since the Sunday walk, nearly four months ago, 
Claire had made a mental note of Pauline’s supercilious 
air ; but as if to obliterate this effect, her sister always 
became unusually gay and affectionate shortly afterwards. 
On one particular occasion, she appeared at dinner 
smiling and talkative, began at once to tease her parents, 
and when the four of them went up to the back drawing- 
room, opened the folding doors, lit the candles at the 
piano, and played some favourite pieces of Mrs. Norris’s— 
Chaminade and Mendelssohn. 

'' Aren’t you cold in there ? ” Claire called, in a pause, 
peering into the dark room, in whose large lake of shadow 
the two candle flames, aspiring still and pointed, made 
small sick halo for her sister’s face. 

'' Rather not 1 ” Pauline answered ; and, whethei 
because her attention was concentrated on the music she 
was about to play, or because she was controlling some 
inner excitement, her voice had a catch in it — a tiny 
uncertain note of exaltation. 

Pauline had revived her practising lately. Claire 
remembered how, on Clement’s first morning in West- 
minster, they had heard her playing up in the schoolroom. 
Since then, at all sorts of hours, muted music had sounded 
from that room — distant, turbulent streams of melody, 
cascades of notes, suddenly dying away, suddenly and 
inconsequently renewed. Sometimes it was the ’cello 
she played, whose familiar groan-like articulation was less 
audible, but when audible, equally disturbing. For, 
each in his or her own way, the other Norrises were 
disturbed by her musical energy. Mrs. Norris, seated 
in the back drawing-room, would raise her graceful head 
and tilt her face, expressionless save for the dreamy 


102 QUIET INTERIOR 

eyebrows, towards the door, her lips drooping as she 
listened, her hands hanging languidly from her knees. 
Tom Norris, if he were present, would lower his newspaper, 
or book, look over his spectacles, and say : “ There’s 
Pauly,” and after a moment, uneasily resume his reading. 
Often, Claire, raising her head to listen, would bear an 
unconscious striking resemblance to her mother. She 
cherished a fancy about her sister’s playing — ^that it was 
menacing, anarchic, full of pride and challenge. The 
distant, crashing chords of the piano, the difficult long- 
drawn notes of the bow on ’cello strings seemed the voice 
of some' spirit with newly-acquired power of speech, 
prisoned in the chill little schoolroom like a princess in a 
tower. 

And then, one day, Pauline began to sing again. Claire, 
coming in with a new book she had just fetched from the 
library, went into her bedroom and heard, across the 
passage, her sister raise her voice. It was an insufficiently 
trained voice, shaky in the middle register, but it had a 
clear flexible quality ; in the words of the concert critic, 
Pauline’s attack was good ; that is to say, there was no 
timidity in her opening bars. She sang with energy and 
enjoyment, and Claire, listening, forgot to take off her 
things, forgot her book. She had a picture of her sister, 
flushed and radiant, abandoned to the emotion of the 
music and the act of singing. Not till silence fell did she 
recollect herself. A moment after, issuing on to the 
landing, she saw the schoolroom door open and Pauline 
also came out, perfectly composed in face and bearing, 
cool, self-possessed, with the poised urbanity which dis- 
tinguished her not only from the jaded, languid damosels 
of Oxford Street and Piccadilly ,but from the loose-hmbed, 
gawky, incredibly British Dianas of the Counties. 

” Hullo ! ” she said indifferently, and, as Claire followed 
her down, ” It’s vilely cold up there. I only hope there’s 
a decent fire in the larder.” 

Claire was disconcerted and annoyed with herself for 
the disparity between her imagination and Pauline’s 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 103 

appearance. She accused the former of running away 
with her. “ I really am Victorian with fancies/’ she 
told herself. Yet she still suspected Pauhne of de- 
liberately hiding under a disdainful or calm exterior 
enthusiasms and preoccupations neither trivial nor 
merely musical. It was idiotic, she thought, to be 
ignorant of a sister with whom she had lived in 
comparative intimacy all her life. If her fancy distorted 
facts, that postulated ignorance. It was sheer ignorance 
not to know whether Pauline liked making a melodious 
din for its own sake, or whether this employment was 
a temperamental outlet. She began to watch her sister, 
not with an idea of spying, but with the newly awakened 
interest of an amateur naturalist watching the building 
of birds and the opening of buds ; and her interest, like 
that of the naturahst’s, quickly became a passion — a 
soft, intent, entranced emotion. All the minute events and 
wonders that had hitherto escaped the notice take on 
the look of revelations. The poet desired to shout to 
all the world the miracle : 

Behold the daisy has a ring of red ! 

and Claire, in a lesser degree, wanted to share her 
discoveries. She had always admired her sister’s looks ; 
but it seemed to her now that Pauline’s especial grace was 
due to an almost unique combination of extreme youth 
with adult self-possession. Claire disliked remembering 
herself at nineteen — only two years ago — ^the inability 
of her hair to remain tidy for more than an hour, and the 
tendency of her ankles to turn over. Pauline had got 
through that stage in three months previous to her coming- 
out. And yet there was nothing doll-like about her ; 
and she had moments of exquisite laughter when she 
ceased to be a young lady of fashion and became a poplar 
tree in a sunny breeze. Claire did not, however, attribute 
any change to Pauline herself ; she knew it was to her own 
eyes the change was due : that was why it was no good 
trying to share her emotion with anyone. There was 


104 QUIET INTERIOR 

only one person at the moment who probably shared it, 
and she was unwilling to have any direct dealings with 
Ivor. Poor Russell would have loved to compare notes 
with her . . . 

She was thinking of Russell Lincoln as she and her 
mother came in from a tea-party two days after 
Pauline’s first recurrence of song. They went into the 
back drawing-room where, amid the debris of tea, Mr. 
Norris sat reading some letters. 

'' Well,” he said, looking over his glasses. '' Well. 
Just got in ? Had tea ? Pauly’s up there. Been 
raising Cain ! She’s got one of her young friends.” He 
jerked his head upwards. 

It was the alphabet to Claire that '' young friends ” 
meant young men as opposed to girls, whom her father 
called simply “ girls.” Oh,” she answered, trying to 
sound interested but not inquisitive. She had recently 
been attacked by self-consciousness in relations with 
her father ; and, moreover, youth’s loyalty to youth 
forbade her to admit to the elder generation that there 
might be something in ” the assiduity of Ivor Webb. 

As she went upstairs she reflected that Cain was easily 
disturbed. Pauline’s rendering of “ Songs my Mother 
Taught me” was restrained. She had not the power, 
or the will, perhaps, to express grief and the poignancy 
of memory. The alien nomadic rise and fall of the air 
lacked all wildness when she uttered it ; it was the plaint 
of a prisoner whom captivity had saddened but also 
tamed. 

Claire sat and listened in her dusky room. The song 
was repeated. In the silence she rose, switched on the 
light and drew the curtains ; and when the sounds of her 
own movements ceased she heard voices raised in argument 
across the landing. As she prepared to dress for dinner 
Pauline began to play scraps of ragtime tunes. In the 
next pause a chair was scraped harshly across the school- 
room floor. The blood came suddenly up into Claire’s 
face, and with the shock of her flush she realised that her 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 105 

door was ajar, and that through all her actions, she had 
been listening intently. Quickly, she put on her dressing- 
gown, switched off the light, and, leaving her room, passed 
through the bathroom and entered her sister’s. There, 
without putting on the light, she sat down. She could 
hear nothing now. 

Her cheeks were still burning, and her eyes felt bright 
and unnaturally dry ; her mouth was dry. She had no 
thoughts in her mind, but only the name Pauline, and, 
further back, where it had a permanent place, the name 
Clement. At this moment these names were merely 
words. She discovered that her mouth was dry when her 
lips began to form those syllables. 

After what seemed a quarter of an hour, she heard the 
schoolroom door open, and Ivor’s quick, authoritative, 
inquiring, urgent tones. His voice was always like that, 
just as his small light grey eyes were always fixed 
searchingly on some one — some one, seldom, if ever, on 
something. He always seemed to be observing, probing, 
questioning. He called himself, Claire remembered too 
well, an “ adventurer ” ; but she thought of him as some 
one far more scientific and less romantic than that ; as 
a biologist, for instance, in a laboratory with slides, and 
microscopes, and test-tubes and instruments — ^himself 
in pale holland overalls against pale distempered walls. 
And yet his interests were human interests ; he liked 
warm hands to hold, ready lips to kiss, and quick sus- 
ceptible hearts to stimulate, even while he dissected them. 
It was not his motives that repulsed Claire, it was his cool, 
calculating manner — the pale holland-and-disinfectant air 
of him. She admired his cleverness. He had been clever 
enough to suspect what it was in him that had caused 
his failure with regard to herself. Of course, Claire 
knew he never could have succeeded ; but when he had 
said : If I’d made love to you in the usual way, I wonder 
if you’d have liked me ? If I’d begun at the usual end, 
by kissing you ? ” he had touched on the thing that 
destroyed the possibility of his power over her : that he 


io6 QUIET INTERIOR 

had made not even a pretence of passion. He had acted 
even more coldbloodedly than he felt, believing that to 
kiss her would be to frighten her, whereas to enmesh her 
in words would be to hold her. Because she was clever 
he had thought she would dispense with “ the usual pre- 
liminaries.” It was, perhaps, a compliment : but Claire 
recognised it as an experiment. 

At the sound of voices, her brain had begun to work ; 
as the couple passed outside and descended, she had gone 
once more over the familiar ground ; and, arriving at the 
familiar feeling of shame and nausea which the memory 
of the slight exhilaration caused by her adventure brought 
with it, she began anxiously to wonder what she should 
say to Pauline when Pauline returned upstairs. An 
impulse had brought her here ; but a counter-impulse 
should not remove her. Her first impulse had been right ; 
her second cowardly. She sat still until her sister opened 
the door briskly and flashed on the lights. 

'' Claire ! Good Lord, what a scare you gave me. 
What are you doing sitting here in the dark ? ” Pauline 
was delicately flushed and dishevelled. 

Claire’s throat contracted ; but she said : I wanted 
to speak to you.” 

‘'Not now !” Pauline replied uncompromisingly, and 
immediately Claire’s blind impulse took definite shape 
and crystallised. 

“ Yes, now,” she said, her brain grown suddenly alert 
and clear and normal. 

The younger girl went over to the wardrobe and, as 
she took out a pink dress and threw it on a chair, said 
curtly : “ Why, what about ? ” 

“ About Ivor Webb.” 

“ Oh, you said something about him before.” The 
familiar tinge of disdain was in her tone. 

Claire was struck for the first time with surprise at 
such a tone, such an air, being familiar in and natural to 
so young a girl. Pauline’s self-assurance surely was 
amazing j further, it challenged self-assurance in her 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 107 

interlocutor : Yes, and I want to say some 

more.” 

Pauline began quickly and unhesitatingly to undress. 
‘‘ I know you're going to say Pm seeing too much of him,” 
she remarked calmly, you very nearly said so when I 
saw him practically the first time in the autumn.” 

” Yes, I wanted to warn you ; but I was cowardly.” 

Really, Claire !” exclaimed her sister, laughing — ^with 
some excuse, Claire reflected, for she had sounded even to 
her own ears, remarkably priggish. 

” It’s no use trying to put me off, Pauly, because I’m 
determined to tell you about — about Ivor and me. After 
that, it’s your circus.” 

” Oh.” Pauline’s tone was not exactly encouraging, 
but it was less hostile than before ; Claire suspected her 
of awakened curiosity. She almost rose to approach her 
younger sister, who had let down her hair before the glass ; 
but she remained seated out of cautiousness, and glanced 
in silence for a moment round the white, softly-lit room. 
Several times the comb hissed through Pauline’s hair ; 
and then Claire spoke again : 

” Of course he’s been making love to you.” 

” Oh, of course ! ” Pauline replied. Again she drew 
the comb down the long fawn-coloured strands ; and then, 
throwing a look over her shoulder, she added : ” It’s the 
very first time, I do believe — since we’ve been grown up — 
that you’ve come the elder sister over me. I must say 
it’s comic.” 

Claire was disconcerted ; she had never expected jeers, 
even from those who, experience might have taught her, 
were capable of jeering. It seemed for one instant that 
Pauline had a right to resent her interference — ^that 
Pauline was in a superior position and her superior in 
knowledge. Claire therefore asked her quickly, whether 
she was engaged to be married to Ivor Webb. This 
directness was apparently disarming, for Pauline answered 

No ” at once ; but, as though in fear of having allowed 
an advantage, she added ; 


io8 QUIET INTERIOR 

But look here, Claddie, I refuse to be cross-examined 
about Ivor or anybody else.” 

Claire felt intensely the difficulty of her ungrateful 
position, but emboldened by the other’s use of her infant 
name, she said painfully : “I don’t wonder you’re fed up, 
my dear, but honestly you must listen for a minute.” 
She fortified herself with a recollection of Pauline’s emotion 
on the night of the dance, and went on — “ You know 
what you felt about Russell ? — Responsibility because he 
cared for you ? Well, it’s something like that I feel for 
you. Not because you’re fonder of me than I am 
of you ; I don’t mean that. But I have a feeling some- 
thing like yours about him, only different, because I’m so 
fond of you. Oh, Pauly — I don’t want to come it over you, 
but I must tell you ... Two years ago — ^you remember 
the time — Ivor made love to me. He wanted me — ^no, 
not to love him ; I don’t think he cares about love. He 
wanted me to — ” searching urgently for words sufficiently 
explicit without being brutal she got up unconsciously, 
and went across to the other girl, who had faced round at 
last. They stared in each other’s faces, Claire clarifying 
her statement by the intensity of her look. 

. . — Wanted you to — ? ” Pauline prompted ; and 
as she uttered the words she turned away and stood, 
with her hair hanging about her, looking sidelong at her 
own reflection. 

Claire made no answer, but, waiting, saw a deep flush 
spread over her sister’s face and neck. 

“ I don’t know how much you mean me to — ^to under- 
stand,” Pauline said at last, and quickly crossed the 
room to the fire-place. Claire heard her strike a match. 

Everything,” she answered, and remained where she 
was while the first flames crackled up the chimney. When 
she turned, although it seemed that a long time had passed, 
there were still the pale blue and pure golden tongues of the 
new-lit fire’s first beauty. Pauline was squatting on her 
heels, and as Claire approached, motioned to a chair and 
said : 


SKELETONS IN THE CUPBOARD 109 

'' Tell me/’ Then, with a slight shiver, she began to 
draw her hands down her cheeks with a long, pensive 
movement. 

Claire recognised the gesture, and, crouching also, 
began to speak : I felt like that ; when I got in from 

the long walk. I looked in the glass to see if it was the 
same me. My face felt different. We’d been out — oh, 
miles.” 

“ At Sparrows ? ” 

'‘Yes. I couldn’t believe I looked the same — I felt so 
changed, altogether. It was queer, and — oh, beastly ! ” 

“ What happened ? ” 

“ During the walk ? Nothing ; he talked and talked 
and asked me questions and wrapped everything up in 
words. But it didn’t make it seem a bit romantic or 
attractive. It was like new paint on an old fence — ^just 
one coat, which doesn’t do.” 

“ Did he actually ask you ? . . .” 

“Yes. For a long time I didn’t see what he was driving 
at, but in the end he was quite frank, and I understood.” 

“ Were you horrified ? ” 

“ No. Not until some time after. I was fearfully 
startled, and — oh, Pauline, don’t think me disgusting — 
in a kind of way I was excited. I’m only disgusted now, 
by him and by myself.” 

“ What did you do ? ” 

“ That night I locked my door. The next day he went 
away. We were perfectly friendly. I didn’t feel angry, 
and I didn’t pretend to be. And yet it was all so queer — 
I shook the whole night. Henrietta shook like that 
when she heard about Russell — ^it reminded me of that 
week-end.” 

The gilt carriage clock struck seven. 

“ I must dress,” said Claire. 

“Not yet. Wait a bit longer.” 

They sat in silence. Presently Pauline said : '‘I’m glad 
you told me.” 

“ So am I.” Then Claire added : “ In justice to Ivor, 


no QUIET INTERIOR 

it’s most improbable that he’d suggest such a thing to 
you. It was because he looked on me as rather ad- 
vanced, I think.” 

” He must have liked you, too.” 

It was Claire’s turn to blush. ” Yes,” she said, ” he 
thought I was very attractive : that flattered me. It’s 
amusing to think that he’s the only person who’s ever 
said so, or thought so.” 

Pauline was too preoccupied for amusement. ” Oh, 
I don’t suppose so,” she answered vaguely ; and Claire, 
who could afford to keep her irony for Henrietta's or for 
her own solitary entertainment, dismissed that aspect of 
her story from her mind. 

” Don’t let it worry you,” she said. 

” No, I shan’t. But of course it makes a difference.” 

As on a former occasion, her sister echoed : ” Of 

course.” 

” I wish I hadn’t kissed him, Claire.” 

” Never mind, my dear. It doesn’t matter. You 
needn’t see him again, if you don’t want to.” 

Pauline put out her hand and said to her lightly : 
” You are a brick.” 

They dressed with their respective doors open into the 
bathroom, so that they could shout at each other. This 
was an almost unprecedented occmrence. As the gong 
sounded Pauline’s gravity left her ; she ran downstairs 
the first, and entering the back drawing-room precipitately 
informed her parents that Claire was insufiiciently appre- 
ciated by them and by herself. ” I thought I had a 
monopoly of sunbeam effects,” she exclaimed, ” but 
Claddie’s Some Little Ray of Sunshine, too.” And, al- 
though her words were uttered in jest her sister divined 
in them a tone of sincerity and confidence which warmed 
her, as Clement, unbeknown to her, had been warmed by 
Pauline’s gaiety on his first morning in Westminster. 


CHAPTER IX 
Treble and Bass 


There was a strong single current in Claire’s life, and, 
looking down, she contemplated it, but did not sink to 
drown. Nor did its strength prevent her from having 
pleasure in the eddies, the bubbles upon its surface. She 
had lived for many months, deeply and primarily, but not 
solely, for Clement’s rare visits and his written word ; 
but the contemporaneous growth of her friendship with 
Pauline was not a matter of indifference to her. She was 
less solitary now ; she had become accustomed to her 
sister’s companionship. They had formed a habit of 
going together to at least one concert a week, and she had 
set herself to learn the accompaniments to Pauline’s 
’cello pieces, so as to practise with her. To Claire’s 
expressed wish that she should take up singing seriously 
again, Pauline had answered : “ Oh no ! I’m rather 

off singing,” and a slight flush made her sister certain of 
the reason for this distaste. Pauline might not be highly 
impressionable, but she was not incapable of feeling a 
shock — a shock to her taste if to nothing more profound ; 
nor was her memory short. Claire was glad ; she did not 
want anyone to suffer ; but such evidence of sensibility 
and remembrance as her sister gave, absolved the latter, 
in her eyes, from the charge of ultimate triviality. Pauline 
had been in need of that absolution ; the young judge 
their contemporaries scarcely less harshly than their 
elders. The younger girl appeared immediately to have 
thrown off disgust and the curious reflected shame felt by 
one who is a party, however innocently, to something 
dishonourable ; and these two emotions were those 


II2 QUIET INTERIOR 

which had endured longest in Claire with regard to Ivor 
Webb. Claire was too imaginative and too just, however, 
to measure Pauline’s sensibility by her own ; their cases 
were different, they themselves were very different, 
doubtless the young man’s attitude to each differed con- 
siderably. It was enough for her that Pauline had felt 
disgust, and that she remembered it. Her action was 
prompt : Ivor Webb’s dismissal reached him by letter 
the day after the sisters’ conversation. 

What continued to surprise the elder sister more, as 
spring came on, was Pauline’s apparent aloofness from 
young men, who had formed so large a part of her existence 
hitherto ; she sustained the reaction long after Claire 
would have expected her to return to her former, and her 
normal, habits. For Pauline was to her sister’s mind 
clearly made for love’s gay encounters and mock 
struggles, and her complete volte face in the matter of male 
companionship and flirtation, which would have seemed 
natural had it lasted but for a few weeks after her dis- 
covery, when prolonged for several months appeared to 
Claire almost unnatural and monastic. In reality she 
took too little account of Pauline’s extreme youth, and of 
youth’s immoderate caprices. A year of philandering 
had not sated Pauline’s appetite, but it had removed the 
sharp edge ; her affair with Ivor Webb had been, perhaps, 
her first experience of a more serious kind of attachment ; 
and it was not extraordinary that a set-back such as she 
had received should divert her abruptly to a completely 
different track. The track she took was not new to her ; 
she had already to some extent made use of her talent for 
music, and Claire’s influence, both consciously and un- 
consciously exercised, prompted her further in the direction 
which her talent made easy. She became first enthusi- 
astic, next serious concerning it, finally absorbed in its 
cultivation ; and her sister went with her through each 
stage with genuine enthusiasm, discreet encouragement, 
equal absorption. Claire’s companionship was a subtle 
compliment to Pauline : the elder sister was known to be 


TREBLE AND BASS 113 

fastidious and exacting in matters of art, as in matters of 
conduct and dress, and now the very quality which 
Pauline had laughed at in her senior contributed to her 
own satisfaction. Claire liked her voice ; Claire liked 
her ’cello playing ; Claire said her touch was not so bad. 
It gave an added pleasure to what Mr. Norris persistently 
called the raising of Cain if Claire’s approval was forth- 
coming ; for she was, according to Pauline, “ intellectual,” 
and knew what was what. 

Claire’s exercise of influence was, in so far as it was 
conscious, diffident. It was difficult for her to be assertive 
in any way, and she had a strong natural respect for 
personal independence. In her humility she, too, was 
flattered by Pauline’s attention to her views concerning 
music, and her heart was warmed by the other signs of 
affection that began to appear in their intercourse. 
Neither was demonstrative ; but the elder sister knew 
what sentiment and meaning underlay some of the 
younger’s lightly spoken words. Pauline’s exclamation, 
‘‘You are a brick,” uttered on the night of their import- 
ant conversation, was a typical one and equivalent to the 
more emotional utterances of less exquisitely and con- 
sistently superficial persons. Claire took these phrases at 
their proper value, and they meant a good deal to her. 

And yet their relationship was never more than an 
eddy, a group of clear and coloured bubbles on the surface 
of the current which was Claire’s interior life. It was 
pleasant to go to Symphony Concerts with Pauline ; but 
at the opening bars she quitted her companion’s side and 
went deep into herself — which was to go far away to a 
remote spot where only one other existed, shadowy but 
indispensable. 

The conversation of the sisters was almost confined to 
music and to trivial gossip. But on one occasion, when 
Pauline had just received from the Lincolns the gift of a 
photograph of Russell, they ventured on to more personal 
ground. 

“ Nice of Henrietta,” Pauline remarked ; and presently 
h 


1 14 QUIET INTERIOR 

added : '' Have you ever noticed how things happen in 

bunches ? 

'' We ll, after all^ it’s proverbial,” answered Claire. 

■“WiHib"M^6Hcmg her reply the other girl went on : 
" Besides Russell there was Ivor ; and just before that, 
Clement leaving Sparrows and coming here.” That 
Clement’s affairs should count as events connected with 
herself was itself an indication of new stirrings in Pauline. 
" The rotten part is that the ripping men get killed just 
as much, or more, as the rotters.” 

" ' The rain falls ’ ” said Claire. " Well, you can’t 

have a war and expect to save your best men.” 

"No, I suppose you can’t ... I say, the Stokeses 
want us to go to tea there to-morrow.” 

" O damn.” 

" Listen here : "You know dear Freddie has shell- 
shock. The doc. says his mind must be taken off his 
dreadful experiences, so we thought of organising an 
amateur orchestra, and it would be so nice if you and your 
sister would help us. Freddie will conduct, of course. 
Do come to tea to-morrow and talk it over. Yours very 
sincerely, Gertrude M. S. Stokes.’ ” 

" I suppose we’d better go, but I’m no use to them,” 
said Claire. 

" We can see who they’re going to get, and then say 
we’re too busy if it’s hopeless. I’m not going to play 
' Keep the Home Fires Burning ’ even to cure Freddie 
Stokes of shell-shock.” 

They discovered, however, that Gertrude Stokes had 
collected quite a hopeful nucleus to perform under 
direction of her brother’s baton. While they sat at tea 
next day she showed them encouraging letters from Vera 
and Leonard Benjamin, whom the Norrises knew slightly, 
and well by reputation as musicians, and from the 
Montague girls who played respectively the viola and the 
violin. 

" So clever, these Jewish families,” Mrs. Stokes ex- 
claimed with an air of amazed discovery, and Freddie, 


TREBLE AND BASS 115 

who had been preening himself self-consciously in the 
background, came and leant over Gertrude’s shoulder to 
read the letters of his intended victims. The wide-eyed 
Stokes mamma seemed to think that patriotism was too 
markedly absent from their project, and continued : 
“You could go round the hospitals. You might even 
give concerts at the front.” 

“ Oh, draw it mild. Mater,” Freddie bridled. 

“ Well, anyway,” Gertrude amended, “we can always 
raise money for the Red Cross.” 

Eventually Claire managed to insert her oar and explain 
her hopeless incompetence as a pianist ; there were many 
protestations, until she succeeded in finishing her sentence, 
and pointing out that at present she and Leonard Ben- 
jamin were cast for duplicate parts, which absolved her 
from any duty towards the scheme. 

“ Oh, but we want your help ! ” they cried. 

“ Well, I can always turn over,” she answered. 

“ I can’t bear Freddie,” said Pauline as they went home. 

“ No — even if he has had a bad time at the front.” 

“ And the Benjamins are freaks. Still, it may be 
sport.” 

They met Leonard Benjamin that week at the Queen’s 
Hall, and he invited himself to lunch on Sunday ; or, at 
all events the Norrises discovered at the end of the inter- 
view that he had been asked, though neither of them 
would admit to having issued the invitation. 

Leonard Benjamin was a very small, pale, dark, ugly 
young man, insignificant and not apparently Semitic, 
with the rather unwashed look of the artistic dilettante. 
Claire thought that perhaps he was merely a trifle freakish 
until, after lunch on Sunday, he began to play. 

The doors were wide open between the two drawing- 
rooms, and the pale cloud-flecked spring light poured in 
through the three big windows into the larger room. 
There the two girls sat, while their mother day-dreamed in 
the smaller, and their father dozed downstairs in the 
library. 


ii6 QUIET INTERIOR 

Before each piece Leonard Benjamin glanced over 
his shoulder and uttered the title : Debussy : Cloches 
a travers les Feuilles ” ; “ Soirees en Grenade ’’ ; 

Arabesque ” ; La Cathedrale Engloutie " or Ravel : 
Pavanne pour une Infante D6funte ” ; Miroirs/’ The 
names, themselves suggestive as poems, fell from his lips 
with cold precision ; and with like precision, but with an 
emotion so delicately translated that one could not say if 
it were sensuous or spiritual, he articulated the exquisite, 
dissonant, subtly-rh 5 rthmic modern music, which wakes 
in the listeners a new thirst which only it can quench. 
Presently he paused for several moments, and then told 
them that the subsequent composition was his own : 

Paysage de Verhaeren.'’ At first, Claire thought it was 
mere clever counterfeit Debussy ; but as it proceeded, she 
began to discern in it something which charmed her not in 
Debussy’s way, for it was too emotional ; nor in Chopin’s, 
nor Beethoven’s nor Mozart’s. She began to wonder 
whether it was imitative of some composer less well- 
known to her, or whether in truth it was original. She 
dared not in her ignorance rashly attribute originality 
where perhaps only cleverness was ; but her pleasure in 
'' Paysage de Verhaeren ” was keen enough for her to 
demand an encore. 

Where is Verhaeren ? ” Pauline asked afterwards. 

Who,” the young man corrected her jerkily ; ” Who, 
not where. He’s a Belgian poet. Perhaps the greatest 
living poet.” 

Claire had heard Henrietta say much the same thing. 

Will you come and play again next Sunday ? ” 
she asked him. 

No, I’m sorry, but every other Sunday I go to hear 
Mrs. Johnnie Agden play the spinet. May I come the 
week after ? ” 

** Yes, do. Who is Mrs. Agden ? ” 

” Mrs. Johnnie Agden. That’s to say Johnnie Agden 
is her husband. She lives in Pont Street. She’s put all 
she has — brains ; not much — ^wit ; a little — ^talent ; a 


TREBLE AND BASS 117 

lot — social sense ; an immense lot — ^taste, art, everything, 
into playing the spinet on Sunday afternoon. All these 
heavy Londoners ” — (the young man spoke as though he 
were the citizen of quite another town) collect lazily in 
Pont Street. You can think what it’s like. It is really 
beautiful. A hot, crowded, glaring room. She sits up in 
an exotic dress, and beads and scarves and jewels . . . 
Dark, gold-encrusted walls . . . People all round in 
dozens — ^the smart intellectuals ; and absolute silence. 
This lovely pure spinet music : nothing like it. But you’re 
sure when you go away it all vanishes. Puff ! like a 
candle. Nothing but the spinet in space. When she sits 
on the stool, she’s there : she’s Mrs. Johnnie Agden. 
When she’s off the stool — ^nowhere. A wandering ghost 
in Pont Street.” 

I wonder what she does on alternate Sundays ? ” 
said Pauline ; at which Claire smiled. 

I’ll come if I may then on Sunday week. And then 
you’ll sing. Miss Norris. I wonder — could I bring my 
sister ? She believes she’s a connoisseur of the human 
voice.” 

Oh, of course, do.” 

When he had gone : Good heavens, what a queer 

little object ! ” Pauline exclaimed. He doesn’t look at all 
Ikey though.” 

** Not a bit. He looks what Henrietta calls Cambridge. 
I like him.” 

'' He seems to know some weird people. But he can 
play.” 

“ He can,” Claire agreed. “ What did you think of 
his own ? ” 

“ Queer,” her sister repeated, with her usual poverty of 
vocabulary. But I liked it where it changed into four 
time from six-eight. It seemed to widen out kind of 

Yes, I know. It made me think of getting out of the 
town into the fields. I must borrow Verhaeren from 
Henrietta. I wonder what Vera is like.” 

You’ve seen her,” Pauline answered. 


ii8 QUIET INTERIOR 

Yes, but I mean inside/’ 

" Oh ! — ” Pauline began with an echo of her old 
mockery, and then changed her tone to continue, '' I 
wonder why you’re so keen on insides ? ” 

Why are you keen on music ? You like to know 
music inside out. It’s just the same as that.” 

“ No, it’s not. Music is — Oh, well, after all, Beethoven 
and Bach were geniuses. You can’t understand all 
there is in them by just hearing a thing once or twice.” 

” Of course not. Exactly. There you are.” 

“ Vera Benjamin’s not a genius.” 

” No. But I’m not only interested in geniuses. 
You sing and play dozens of things that aren’t tip-top, 
don’t you ? Besides, look here, Pauline, it’s no good 
setting up as a misanthrope ” — Pauline raised her 
eyebrows — ” because you’ve been interested in people 
in your time.” 

Pauhne sat silent for a moment, looking speculatively 
at her, as though suspecting her of an ulterior motive. 
Then she answered : ” Yes — yes, 1 was.” There was 
another pause : presently she went on, ” But those 
people showed themselves to me ; I didn’t have to 
discover about them, as I know you like to do.” 

“ I know Ivor Webb displays himself — as much of 
himself as he chooses,” Claire answered with delibera- 
tion. She respected Pauline’s unwiUingness to name 
him, but for the sake of their new friendship she desired 
candour and precision. 

” Yes,” Pauline agreed, and then smiled. The quality 
of her smile emboldened her sister, who went on, in a 
tone of light seriousness : 

” Now I come to think of it, Ivor’s rather like a bird.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

” Oh, you know, birds grow bright feathers to dazzle 
the females in the mating season — hens, I mean. Some 
of them dance before the hens. Now I see what all his 
word-spinning was ; it was only partly deliberate.” She 
sank into thought ; the train of which brought her to 


TREBLE AND BASS 119 

the suspicion that she had been brutal to force on Pauline 
such a discussion. She herself had referred to Ivor only 
unwillingly, with distaste, almost with shame, long 
after her direct encounter with him ; it was only since 
Pauline had discussed him that she had been able to 
regard him as a cloud no larger than a man’s hand, 
receding over the horizon. There was no reason why 
Pauline’s distaste should be less keen or shorter-lived. 
To promote confidence and intimacy between herself 
and her sister was no excuse for ignoring the latter’s 
sensibilities. Claire felt that she had been both clumsy 
and unimaginative. “ I expect you hate talking about 
it,” she said. ‘‘ I’m sorry I dragged him in. I’m an 
idiot.” 

” Oh, it’s all right,” her sister rephed nonchalantly, 
but she had flushed a little. 

A fortnight after, Leonard Benjamin returned, accom- 
panied by Vera, a tall slender girl, with awkward, grace- 
ful movements, whose short black hair and turned-up 
nose gave her swarthy face a Beardsley rather than a 
Hebrew cast. She might more readily have been accused 
of a negroid than a Semitic strain. 

She and Pauline began at once to discuss songs and 
voices and public singers, while Claire stood at the piano 
looking through a volume of Schumann in search of a 
favourite which she wished her sister to sing. Leonard 
sat still and silent at the piano ; and glancing at him, 
she saw his eyes fixed across the top of the piano, on 
the vista of the back drawing-room which showed through 
the open doors. Following the direction of his stare, 
she saw her beloved twig-tracery blurred with opening 
buds and early foliage. It was six months since she 
had watched those boughs, austere and black on the 
October blue, at the time of Clement’s first advent. 
She refleeted that she was no nearer happiness now than 
then ; and yet she had been patient. If to grasp at 
joy, as Henrietta did, was for it always to elude one, 
then, conversely, patience ought to be rewarded. Music, 


120 QUIET INTERIOR 

companionship, old and new friends, were all bubbles 
merely on the current which was bearing her whence she 
did not know. They were pleasant, even beloved, dis- 
tractions ; they made up her surface hfe, which was 
sufficiently gay ; they were bubbles which reflected 
heaven’s grey, heaven’s blue, the bright frail hues of the 
spectrum. Her other life, which seemed to her more 
real, more permanent, in which she was more truly 
herself, where there was no compromise, no social pre- 
tences and delicacies, and only the inevitable minimum 
of dishonesty and self-deception, needed a darker, a 
deeper and a stronger image. It, too, could reflect ; 
each bubble had its shadow beneath it in the stream ; 
but the stream had a hue and a momentum of its own. 
Claire thought, too, sometimes, that it was bottomless. 
She had begun to fear it. It was herself, and yet she 
had not plumbed it. She had begun to suspect that 
circumstances might arise which would compel her to 
plumb it, to forget the bubbles, and immerse herself in 
the familiar yet unfathomed stream. 

The musical Sunday afternoons became a regular 
fortnightly occurrence. All four enjoyed them im- 
mensely, and sometimes Henrietta, or Gertrude, or 
Freddie Stokes, or even Lucy would come to listen and 
applaud. Tom Norris made grim references to the 
Sabbath day ; but Mrs. Norris, in her mysterious way, 
warded off any direct prohibition. Parties were formed 
for going to promenade concerts ; it was not often now 
that the Norrises went unaccompanied. The conversa- 
tion was almost always of music, of instruments and 
voices, of operas, singers, musicians and composers. 
Pauline was eager in upholding those whom she cham- 
pioned. She and Leonard had struck up a kind of 
inimical friendship ; they disagreed violently on many 
questions, but seemed to derive a keener pleasure from 
their dissension than from the acquiescence of others. 
Their friendship was purely intellectual ; Claire, who 
had at its beginning watched for indications of flirtation. 


I2I 


TREBLE AND BASS 

was struck by Pauline’s utter unselfconsciousness in 
Leonard’s presence ; he might have been a woman. 
The situation regarding Vera was less unemotional ; 
Vera had developed a doting affection for Pauline, which 
Pauline tolerated with sometimes impatient condescen- 
sion ; she was flattered by Vera’s obvious admiration, 
because Vera was one of the “ intellectuals,” whom, 
while deriding she respected ; but she found the passion 
she inspired often a little tedious. Vera would beg her 
to sing when she wanted Leonard to play, or interrupt 
when she was in the midst of a discussion with him. 
Claire watched the comedy with secret amusement ; she 
was a little sorry for the temperamental Jewess. She 
hoped that Pauhne’s pleasure in the Benjamins would 
not be outweighed by the tedium of being adored by one 
of them, because, decidedly, they were very good for 
Pauline ; even if Vera’s admiration flattered her vanity, 
it also stimulated her interest in her own talents. She 
took singing lessons now, and practised assiduously ; she 
was developing her critical faculty ; unconsciously, she 
was beginning to apply this faculty, acquired with regard 
to one art, not only to other arts, but to life — to person- 
ahty, behaviour, emotion ; she was increasing in fas- 
tidiousness. She still kept up the social round to a 
certain extent, but with a growing tendency to compare 
her dancing partners and the girls she met with Claire 
and the Benjamins, in favour of the latter. She even 
subtly modified her appearance ; and she refused two 
proposals of marriage. 

The first of these, of which Claire did not hear until 
it had been definitely refused, lacked the element of 
gravest importance. Freddie Stokes’s youth, and his 
character, which did not make an impression of being 
formed or stable, robbed his offer of seriousness, and his 
refusal of disaster ; it seemed to Claire, on thinking it 
over, that part of the education which was necessary to 
bring him to maturity would inevitably consist of mildly 
amorous adventures ; she could only hope that the 


122 QUIET INTERIOR 

others would be as abortive as this. He did not strike 
her as a pathetic, nor even a transiently bhghted figure ; 
if he was hurt, it was in his vanity merely. 

The second proposal was of a more considerable kind, 
and it was symptomatic of the sisters’ changed relations 
that Pauline consulted Claire before giving Major Elliot 
an answer. Her airiness of demeanour in doing so did 
not deceive nor shock her senior, who recognised the 
frivolity as superficial only. To the questions : What 
would you think of me as Mrs. Aylward Elliot, old 
thing ? ” she answered with her customary restraint, 

Elliot ? — Major Elliot ? I hardly know him.” 

I know him rather well,” Pauline returned. 

I suppose so, if you’re thinking of marrying 
him.” 

” That doesn’t follow. But as matter of fact, I do. 
He’s rather a dear and ” 

” What else ? ” Claire prompted after a pause. 

” Awfully well connected and quite well off. In fact 
he’s what parents caU a good match.” 

Do you like him very much ? ” the other presently 
inquired. 

I like him ; yes. But is that enough ? I don’t see 

what more I can expect. And ” Again she paused, 

and again Claire prompted her : 

” Well ? ” 

'' I don’t at all fancy having to refuse him. Perhaps 
I ought to have refused straight off. But he’ll mind 
dreadfully.” 

” Have you encouraged him ? ” 

No ; at least I don’t think so. I used to see a good 
deal of him, but not just lately. In fact, I thought he’d 
sheered off. But apparently he was thinking it over. 
You know, Claddie, it’s a ripping feeling to be wanted by 
a nice man like that.” 

“ I can imagine it would be,” her sister answered in a 
soft tone of reflection, which, however, her companion 
either did not notice, or to which she attached no 


TREBLE AND BASS 123 

significance, for she went on interestedly examining her 
own impressions. 

'' It makes it doubly hard to refuse ; I mean, because 
of him, and because of me. But Fm not in love with 
him.’’ 

'' Could you be ? ” 

I suppose I might raise a thrill,” Pauline replied. 

No,” she went on, it’s not that, really, which makes 
me so doubtful. It’s that I think I should be rather 
bored later on. You know, he is a little stodgy. He’s 
keen on fishing — well, you know what that means. He 
hates being in London ; only they would have him at 
the War Office. I can’t say I fancy myself as a country 
cousin all alone with Aylward.” 

” No. In that case, it’s certainly ' No.’ ” 

So poor Major Elliot, for whom Claire felt several pangs 
of pity, was denied his happiness. 

The eddies swirled ; the bubbles blew here and there, 
separated, merged, broke, re-formed; the leaves on the 
planes and the park-lilacs and laburnums came out fully, 
Mrs. Norris began to speak dreamily of Sparrows. The 
war seemed interminable ; that it would end was in- 
credible. The conscientious objectors were cast into 
prison, released, re-tried, re-imprisoned. Bill Osier went 
to France ; more men were called up ; there was constant 
news of the deaths of acquaintances, of the deaths of 
relations of acquaintances and of the relations of domes- 
tics and charwomen and greengrocers and gardeners. 
Henrietta grew thinner : the word ” revolution ” began 
to appear in her talk ; she took to leaving the Cambridge 
Magazine in buses, tubes and shops in the hopes of con- 
verting doubtful patriots. Claire’s fear of herself began 
to identify itself with her horror of the war ; she sat 
long hours in the back drawing-room facing her fear, 
not comprehending it — facing it unwillingly and without 
result while Pauline practised in the schoolroom two 
floors above her. She saw no outcome from war, nor 
from her own situation. Life stretched interminably 


124 QUIET INTERIOR 

long ahead, and yet it seemed as transient as the sound 
of passing trains. The train goes on, but on the listener’s 
ears silence falls again ; the train goes on, perhaps for 
ever, and when the hearing of one loses it, the hearing 
of another picks it up, and so on, in one long eternal 
chain of sense and sound. But the rapport between it 
and any given listener is so short ; he arrests his trivial 
action, holds his breath, a hundred apparently dis- 
connected thoughts and images shp through his mind 
— of what the train portends, of its origin and destina- 
tion, of its freight and significance ; it means a million 
things to him, and suggests a million more ; and then it 
passes. 

So Claire sat and mused, from horn: to hour. If I 
could board the train, she thought, and be one of those 
happy travellers to a place where marvels happen ! 
And then, reminding herself that she was only just come 
to womanhood, she derided her own trivial impatience. 

The war will end,” she told herself ; ** Clement will 
come home. I won’t drown yet. There may be no 
depth. Perhaps if I waded in I should find it was all 
silly imagination — ^that there was no dark well in me at 
all.” 

And then one day the sound of Pauline playing Rhein- 
gold came to her with startling appropriateness. The 
Rhine maidens swim and sport on the sunny siurface. 


CHAPTER X 
Premeditation 

One April dusk Claire sat on her bed reading a letter 
which had just come from Clement. 

The hour of dinner was postponed on Mrs. Norris's 
account, and being ready- dressed, she had a spare half- 
hour in which to study her rare, precious document, 
gloat over it, learn it by heart, even, perhaps, answer it. 
It was short without curtness, and slangy. Only at the 
end did she discern an accent of the gravity with which 
he used to speak of old David Parsons and the war : 

“ Fm fearfully fit, thanks awfully, hut — as father used 
to complain of public schoolboys — biceps firm, brains 
flabby ; I never think of anything except routine and 
tactics. The chaps here talk awful rot. I do want to get 
to France ; one can't help wanting to be in the show." 

In this last sentence, too, was a note of apology for 
his war-enthusiasm ; he wished her not to despise it ; 
he stiU ardently desired her approval. 

“ Is that why one hates militarism ? " she wondered, 
because it encourages flabby-mindedness — anyway, in 
the privates ? And even civilians have to think to a 
pattern. England is fighting for liberty ; but there's 
no liberty in England now. Can one obtain a thing by 
giving it up ? Oh, Clement, I wish we agreed ! But I do 
understand about not wanting to be out of it." Idly 
she turned the page, and there found a postscript inform- 
ing her that news had just come of the battalion's im- 
minent departure for France, and that Clement himself 
expected to get leave to-morrow, in which case he would 
come to Westminster, as prearranged. 


125 


126 QUIET INTERIOR 

Claire sat quietly in the quiet room, and thought 
what these tidings meant : advent, and then departure ; 
Clement’s presence and then his danger ; brief joy and 
the grief ; anxiety, fear, long drawn out. In a few 
days she would see him ; and suddenly sweeping aside 
her contemplative mood, came the thought that in a 
few days she might be in his arms — which image stood 
for all love, all beauty, all delight. An obscure sepul- 
chral voice in her mocked, “ No, No ! ” but youth made 
her sanguine ; her blood stirred to the hope that some- 
how, not by her own deliberate already renounced action, 
but by the agency of some fortunate accident, perhaps 
by the magnetic force of her own feeling, Clement might 
see her suddenly anew ; might attain during his short 
stay the full stature of a man. She bit her lower lip, 
as though to force a promise from the future ; as she 
did so the realisation of his departure broke over, flood- 
ing her with consternation verging upon horror. She 
struck her hands together, intertwisted the fingers, and 
bent her head, her face distorted with a grimace of pain, 
utterly unconscious of herself, of her surroundings, of 
time, of all save her emotion. “ I can’t bear it,” she 
whispered, and again, on a rising note of anguish and 
resentment, ” I can’t bear it. He isn’t mine to have — 
only to lose ! ” She lifted up a face exceedingly pale 
and discomposed, and looked round her quiet room, as 
though perhaps some talisman to avert disaster lay 
within her reach, had she grace to perceive it ; and her 
eyes lit on Matthew, who was lying unlawfully on a 
cushioned chair, one dark, bright, watchful eye fixed on 
his mistress with a slightly apprehensive expression. 

Matthew, Matthew ! ” she exclaimed, rising from her 
bed and going over to Hft him in her arms. He was 
almost full-grown now and heavy, and so she 
sat down, still holding him, finding comfort and 
pleasure in his warm weight ; but he began to 
struggle gently, and she had to let him flop to the 
floor. ” I’m being stupid,” she said, and, though she had 


PREMEDITATION 127 

not wept, wiped her eyes as if to remove all traces of 
deep feeling. 

Matthew had now decided that it was dinner-time ; 
assuming a cheerful air he advanced towards her ; 
backed ; advanced again with a dawning smile ; backed 
again, wagging his tail, towards the door ; lowered the 
front part of his body — forelegs outstretched — as though 
in preparation for a game ; and, as she took a step 
forward, leapt a little way into the air, and caracoled 
round her, playfully snapping at her extended hand. 

You're very festive," Claire said to him, opening the 
door, whereupon he scuttled across the landing and 
began to plop down the stairs. Dinner, however, was 
not ready, so they went into Tom Norris’s so-called 
" library," a small, bookless room behind the dining- 
room. It contained a vast writing-table, some leather 
chairs, and Claire’s table on which stood a typewriter, 
symbol of her new activities. Here she spent several 
hours every day, filing papers, taking notes from her 
father’s dictation, which she subsequently turned into 
letters on her machine, indexing Hansard and compiling 
books of press cuttings. This self-imposed office routine 
had gradually grown up during the past six months. 
It had begun quite accidentally when one day Mr. Norris 
had, with his gruff timidity, demanded her help in tidy- 
ing his table and sorting his letters ; and it had sub- 
sequently been reinforced by her mastery of a type- 
writer which Clement gave her. The effect on her 
relations with her father was good ; the sense of com- 
radeship induced by working in proximity made Claire 
able to speak to him without her former reservation, 
due half to childish mistrust, half to youthful intoler- 
ance. She took him more for granted now. And he 
was secretly inordinately proud of his little Claddie, 
who had turned out to be so methodical and neat, and 
to have such a good memory — " a good head ’’ he called 
it. At first he had been inclined to maintain a mysterious 
reserve when she questioned him about the men he met, 


128 QUIET INTERIOR 

the personages whose paths he crossed, the institutions 
he helped to govern, and the committees he sat on ; 
but gradually, what Claire called his mystery-mongering 
became less consistent, and soon he grew to take her 
interest as a matter of course, and to respond to it more 
and more. Sometimes they clashed, though as a rule 
Claire kept silence when she felt her opposition aroused ; 
he could not resist occasionally provoking her, half- 
consciously, on topics concerning which he knew or 
suspected her views to be different from his ; and once 
or twice her response left him in no doubt as to her 
heterodoxy ; her confusion and evident disHke of dis- 
agreement and equally evident strength of feehng gave 
him a certain perverse pleasure, which she did her best 
to deny him by maintaining silence and self-control and 
a neutral air. Sometimes, after avoiding an argument, 
she would go half laughing, half angry, to Pauline, 
while, baulked of the opportunity for dogmatising, Tom 
Norris would complain d propos de bottes to his wife 
that all Claddie’s friends seemed to be pro-Germans or 
conscientious objectors, or socialists, or agitators, and 
that he would conscript the lot of ’em to-morrow if he 
had his way. 

“ What on earth made you take to it ? ” Pauhne asked 
her sister one day, almost irritated by a course of action 
of which she could not discern the advantage. 

Oh, I thought it would be rather nice. It is. It’s 
a bore not to know what your parents are up to,” Claire 
answered ; she did not add that her new interest in her 
parents dated from the disclosure of the older skeleton. 

” Father thinks no end of you now,” Pauline said ; 
” it’s Claddie this and Claddie that till I get positively 
sick of it. Of course, when he yarns to mother she just 
sits and looks as though it was all * Queen Anne’s dead ’ 
to her.” 

” Well, so it is ; there isn’t much about you or me 
mother doesn’t know — only she doesn’t know she knows 
it ” 


PREMEDITATION 129 

" If I know what you mean. Yes, I do. Father feels 
done out of something when mother takes it all so calmly 
— having a little busy bee in the house, daddy’s sunbeam, 
and all that.” 

” Yes,” Claire agreed, smiling, delighted as she always 
was when her sister betrayed a flash of insight ; “ he’s 
gone on hoping all these years for a little incredulity. 
He ought to have married Aunt Conn.” 

” Oh, the Lord forbid ! ” the younger girl cried, in 
smiling, mock horror ; and her cool slender beauty made 
her sister think of a tall, small-headed, rose-pink Darwin 
tulip, whose petals open imperceptibly wider after a 
shower, while the sun and breeze dry the drops on its 
grey-green leaves. 

Claire was reminded of this conversation as she sat 
down at her table to-night, for the letter, half typed on 
her machine, was addressed to Aunt Constance — Mrs. 
Agnew, her mother’s sister, for part of whose fortune 
Tom Norris was trustee. The thought of her aunt was 
unusually interesting and significant because of the 
arrival, at breakfast that morning, of a photograph of 
Hilary, in which Mrs. Norris and Pauline and Claire had 
recognised a striking resemblance to Mrs. Agnew. What 
made the likeness curious was the fact that Hilary’s 
mother had approximated far more closely — as old 
photographs and contemporary evidence proved — to Mrs. 
Norris’s type ; whereas Constance, the youngest of the 
three sisters, was of a very different stamp. By some 
freak of nature Hilary took after her aunt rather than 
either of her parents. Hilary, in a letter accompanying 
the photograph, finally announced that she would be 
coming home this summer. 

Claire’s thoughts travelled quickly backwards to a 
more imminent advent. Sitting there, the conviction 
came to her that Clement’s last leave would be mere 
wasted days if spent in London. So much time slips by 
in London while one is getting up and eating, and tele- 
phoning and finding a taxi. There is hardly any space 


130 QUIET INTERIOR 

for leisured Londoners between breakfast and lunch, 
lunch and tea, tea and dinner ; that is why they prolong 
the evening of bridge, of dancing, of talking, far into the 
night, and then take it out of the next day by not rising 
till eleven o'clock. Once the twist and lurch has begun 
in the spinning top it is impossible for it to right itself ; 
the twist and lurch increase until its gyrations cease — 
until, that is, the season ends, or some other invisible 
event occurs to break the succession of hours and meals 
which jostle each other for room. Two days and two 
nights — what are they in London ? Where do they go ? 
Before one has consciously taken more than two mouth- 
fuls of delicious smoke the cigarette is a small stump in 
one’s fingers with a long column of ash about to fall. 
But in the country two days can spread themselves out 
— often intolerably, sometimes beautifully — long, like a 
slow, leisurely pipe, which one pulls at, and allows to 
go out, and refills and serenely enjoys. Last leave in 
London is a feverish thing ; in the country it can be 
leisurely savoured, fingered ; held in the hands or on 
the palate, examined with conscious happiness before 
it fades and disappears. She must take Clement to 
Sparrows. This project, conceived in the library before 
dinner, came to birth full grown like Athene during the 
meal. She was, however, prepared for opposition. 

By experience acquired so early in infancy that it was 
indistinguishable from instinct Claire and Pauline knew 
the way to overcome parental opposition. It was 
necessary to present any scheme for which they desired 
their mother’s approval with an air of calm assumption 
that it was the most usual, acceptable and uncontro- 
versial proposal in the world. Except at rare moments 
— unfortunately incalculable — Mrs. Norris was as open 
to this as to other forms of suggestion ; her daughters’ 
innocent subterfuges were therefore not often unsuccess- 
ful. Once the feasibihty and propriety of their sugges- 
tions were estabhshed in her mind, the conquest of Mr. 
Norris was an easy matter ; within a certain sphere. 


PREMEDITATION 131 

which encircled almost all matters concerning their 
children, he accepted his wife’s view apparently nnques- 
tioningly. It was almost, Claire had on occasions 
thought, as though he acquiesced for the purpose of 
protecting Mrs. Norris’s innocence against the implica- 
tions which would have attached to an objection ; as 
though he felt that to show apprehension of undesirable 
consequences ensuing on any project which appeared 
harmless to her was worse than to risk such consequences ; 
perhaps he intuitively felt his wife’s unworldly faith and 
trust to be less endangered by results to which she would 
very likely remain blind than by forewarnings and 
precautions whose significance, at such close quarters, 
she could not have ignored. It is probable that Claire 
attributed to her father a subtlety of which he was com- 
pletely guiltless. Whatever his processes of thought, 
the result was pretty safe ; of course, at any moment 
he might take it into his head to draw a line, but that 
merely added a spice of gambling excitement to the 
game. 

After dinner Mr. Norris retired to the library. Matthew 
and Thomas, as though to provide an opening, became 
extremely obstreperous, which caused Mrs. Norris to 
say ; '' They want to go for a walk, poor dogs. London 
isn’t the place for dogs. It will be nice for them when we 
get to Sparrows.” 

” Talking of Sparrows, mother, I’ve had a letter from 
Clement. He is coming on last leave to-morrow. I know 
he wants to see Sparrows again before going to France.” 

” Naturally ; though I should think it would be very 
painful for the poor boy to see the farm in new hands.” 

” Well, he needn’t necessarily visit the farm.” 

Pauline here, preoccupied, left the room, and Claire 
went on with additional sureness : ” Can I wire to Mrs. 
Ellis about rooms and food and so on ? ” 

” We must ask your father. And what about Pauly ? 
We can’t leave her here alone. Or perhaps, if Tom has 
to stay, she’ll stay and keep him company. What day 


132 QUIET INTERIOR 

is it ? Oh, Friday. I think he has an engagement for 
Satui'day night.” 

Claire rose quietly and moved away from the table, 
saying : ” It isn’t a bit necessary for anyone to come, 
though of course if you want to it will be ripping. But 
don’t arrange to come simply on our account.” 

” Have you asked Pauly ? ” 

No. There’s no reason for her to come ; you know 
she hates leaving town in the season.” 

Mrs. Norris looked vague. ” I don’t know if you can 
go alone, you and Clement, darling,” she answered, half 
questioningly, “ I don’t think Tom would like it — I don’t 
know what he’d say.” 

” You know, mother darling, he won’t say anything 
unless you do. There’s no need for a fuss about it. 
Every one goes everywhere with everybody, nowadays.” 
Claire uttered this with the judicial air of a historian who 
knows well that generalities are unsafe, but knows still 
better that the day is to the bold. 

” What will people say though, dearest ? ” 

** Only hags say things, and they say them whatever 
you do or don’t do.” 

** Hags ? ” Mrs. Norris echoed, suddenly smiling and 
tilting her head ; is that a threat, Claire ? ” 

Claire smiled in answer : ” Of course ! But honestly, 
mother, is there any objection ? If I were going to 
compromise myself I needn’t go to Sparrows to do it ! ” 

” Absurd child ! What ideas you get hold of ! It’s 
your reputation I am thinking of. We must ask Tom.” 
This started her on a new train of thought. Presently 
she went on : ” You know, Claddie, your father is very 
proud of you. He’s just as pleased as though you were 
doing real war-work — nursing or something — more 
pleased, really, because it doesn’t take you from home. 
He says you work hard, and you have grit.” 

” That’s a good thing, then : he can regard this week- 
end as a hard-earned holiday.” 

No more was said, but Claire was hopeful. Her mother 


PREMEDITATION 133 

would probably inform her father in her casual, dreamy 
way that Claddie and Clement were going to Sparrows ; 
Pauline, forewarned, would reinforce this with a reference 
as calm as Claire’s own, and very likely he would not even 
challenge the remark. 

Claire did not despise herself for what she had heard 
a suffrage speaker call the methods of the harem.” 
She would have preferred frankness, but her sense of 
what was fitting precluded open defiance of the parent on 
whom she was dependent, of whom she tacitly demanded 
and unhesitatingly accepted all that, materially, she 
needed and much besides. Had she been self-supporting 
a show of obedience might have been a pleasure ; in 
existing circumstances it amounted to a duty, or, as she 
preferred to call it, a necessity. That a show of obedience 
was a negotiable substitute for the minted metal of the 
authentic quality merely constituted for her another 
proof of youth’s and age’s incompatibility — the artifi- 
ciality of their relationship, for which youth makes age 
chiefly responsible. To skate, to evade, to tell half- 
truths, to cast half-lights, to follow the line of least 
resistance, to accept the easiest explanation of every- 
thing, to be content with the plausible rather than seek the 
real — ^these were age’s worst crimes in Claire’s indictment. 
Youth, she thought, was ready, at the outset at least, 
was anxious to cut down sharply into reality ; but age is 
in unadmitted league against the blade, so let age take 
the blame. Of course, if you could choose your parents 
you would do so for the same reasons which guided your 
choice of friends — one of which was that you were able 
to be yourself, and substitute candour for diplomacy ; 
but, as Henrietta had once remarked, one could not choose 
even one’s step-parents. 

Pauline, when Claire that night informed her of the 
plan for the week-end, asked why on earth Claire hadn’t 
let mother go too, and so avoid all discussion and 
objection. 

So I would have, if you could have come too,” 


134 QUIET INTERIOR 

Claire answered, '' but Clement and I couldn’t go off 
for the whole day and leave her.” 

I’m sorry I can’t,” said her sister amiably. “ Don’t 
you think father will put his foot down ? ” 

''If he starts I shall work the 'last leave’ and 'our 
boys ’ and ' one look at the old home ’ touch.” 

" Father isn’t as easily taken in as you think, Claire.” 

" I dare say not. Only at this moment the idea of 
Hilary blowing in is making him feel particularly fond 
of you and me.” 

" Why on earth ? ” asked Pauline. 

" Oh, contrast — or rather a sort of second sight of 
the contrast it will be when she comes. Only very 
probably he’ll like her much better now — as much as he 
does us.” 

" I wish I knew what you were jawing about, Claire.” 

Claire did not try to explain. " It will be fun to see 
what it is like,” she said, with such a spice of happy 
malice that her sister, still puzzled and feeling vaguely 
contradictory, replied, with a touch of her old impatient 
worldliness : " Oh, I don’t suppose it will be like any- 
thing.” 

Claire was aware of excitement rising in her — a gaiety 
not to be dashed by Pauline’s return to the manner of 
her unregeneracy. More for the sake of talking than 
from a wish to disagree, she said : " Well, you can’t 
pretend old Hilary is exactly like anyone else.” 

"Nor are you. Papa and mama and I are the 
ordinaries.” 

" Problem : When two extraordinaries meet, what 
happens ? ” 

" Meaning you and Hilary ? I’m not sure that you are 
a ’straordinary. The Lincolns, for instance — ^you’re 
about half-way between them and us. But I say, Claire, 
to return to the last remark but umpteen, why go and 
hug the mug at Sparrows with Clement ? — it’ll probably 
pour.” 

" Well, of course, Clement prefers country. Besides, 


PREMEDITATION 135 

I like April ; it’s bad enough to have missed the very 
beginning of spring, when the winter smell changes.” 

When’s that may I ask ? ” 

In February.” 

It all sounds rather thrilling,” said Pauline, adding 
almost regretfully, I quite wish I could come, only I 
can’t and that settles it.” 

'' Does it ? Why ? I wish it always did. How 
ripping to be decided.” 

My good girl, you’ve often accused me of havering.” 

** Only about which hat to wear. I’ve never known 
you haver about — say, the verities.” 

” Who are they when they’re at home ? ” 

” I mean about things that really matter,” Claire 
explained. 

'' I used not to,” said Pauline, “ but I’m not so sure 
now. Nothing that really matters has cropped up 
lately.” 

Imperceptibly their tone had changed from bantering 
to serious. Claire, her thoughts busy, scanned her 
sister’s face ; and then asked with a trace of anxiety 
what she meant. 

'' Oh, you know,” Pauline replied, with a resumption 
of lightness, ” I used to be quite sure of myself — and the 
world, and so on.” 

''Do you mean that you’ve lost your self-confidence ? ” 
This was serious, the elder girl thought, ignorant of how 
the true reliable self-confidence can only be born of 
experiences which destroy the first untried growth. 

"No. Yes — perhaps a bit. Yes, I think I have. 
But it doesn’t worry me, and don’t look so solemn. Only 
I feel sometimes as if I were rather missing the point of 
things. You know how music brings you to something 
— as though you saw and understood something you 
never had before ? Well, in ordinary life, I think some- 
times that there’s a point there, too, which I haven’t even 
seen. In the world, apart from music. Only the world 
seems to get on without it.” 


136 QUIET INTERIOR 

“ Without the Kingdom of God ? 

Is that what that means do you think ? '' 

“ Well, roughly,’' Claire answered, ** I suppose the 
Kingdom of God represents being keen on music, and 
the point ; and the world represents being keen on 
young men. But a person like you scores. You won’t 
haver. I’m sure you won’t. The great thing is to go for 
what you want ; one thing at a time. Not to mix up 
music and young men ; not till you’re sinre of one. Of 
course, if you can make music your own, if you see the 
point so clearly that you can’t ever forget it, then you 
can go on after other things, worldly things. But it’s 
fatal, I know, to have doubts and scruples and half- 
measures. You mustn’t even wonder whether you’re 
behaving well — if you really want something.” 

” Well, don’t then.” 

'' Ah, but if you’re like me, you do wonder. Some 
people can’t go ahead regardless.” 

” So they don’t get what they want ? What a cheerful 
companion you are. Thomas, my lad, it’s all very 
complicated.” 

Thomas agreed with a tactful wag of his tail. 

” Thomas ! ” said Claire, you don’t know what you’re 
going to miss. Matthew is going to scoot all over the 
downs and the garden ; he may even catch a baby 
rabbit ; he may find a wife — you never know.” 

Thomas looked self-satisfied, as though he were think- 
ing that no joys pictured by Claire could rival the ecstasy 
of surreptitious sheep-running in Kensington Gardens. 
His existence and experience was bounded by London. 
Thus, when some one mentioned Sparrows, he pricked 
his ears and dreamed, not of a country home he had 
never seen, but of sparse flocks of small elusive bodies 
which rested on the grass and which, when he rapidly, 
softly, pantingly approached them, rose into the air 
and out of reach with a pleasant, maddening, fluttering 
sound of wings. 

When Claire left Pauline’s room after this conversation 


PREMEDITATION 137 

it was eleven o'clock. As she did so the parlourmaid 
came up the stairs and told her that Miss Lincoln was in 
the hall. Claire hurried down. Henrietta stood where 
Lucy had stood on the night of the dance, pale, hollow- 
cheeked, almost ethereal under the curved brim of a 
green hat. 

I'm locked out," she said, taking one step forward. 

Claire turned to the maid and gave directions about the 
spare bedroom. Then she took Henrietta's arm and led 
her upstairs. 

" Lucy's gone away for the night to see my father. We 
only heard yesterday where he was. I went out to supper 
and forgot the keys. I hope Mrs. Norris won't mind." 

" Oh no, my dear. I'm so glad you've come. It 
would be lonely alone in the flat." 

" I don't mind that. Still, I’d rather be with you. 
Were you just going to bed ? " 

"Yes. There's some milk in my room. I’ll get it, and 
a nightgown. Go to the spare room.” 

" No ; I’ll come up to yours," Henrietta answered. 
Entering her friend’s room she threw herself into a low, 
deep chair and took the glass of milk offered her. Claire 
began to undress. She had, on leaving Pauline, felt 
pleasantly tired, and perceiving Henrietta's pale, dumb 
exhaustion, she realised for the first time the evenness of 
her own health and temperament, and the wide margin 
of strength which always lay on the further side of any 
fatigue or indisposition which she suffered. She was 
aware, obscurely, that her friend lacked that margin, 
that too often she was living up to the very limit of her 
powers. 

" Shall I get you something else ? " she asked softly. 
" Bovril, or some wine or something solid ? " 

Henrietta shook her head slowly from side to side 
without raising it from the back of the chair. Presently, 
however, she sat up and said, " Well ? " 

“ Clement is coming on last leave to-morrow," Claire 
answered, and was disconcerted to perceive that her voice 


138 QUIET INTERIOR 

had a tremor. The other let her eyes wander round the 
room, and then, with apparent inconsequence, asked 
whether Clement had ever entered it. 

“ In here ? No. Why ? ” 

Oh, I don’t know. Yes I do. He doesn’t know you 
really, Claire ; and he certainly doesn’t appreciate you.” 
“ How would that help him ? ” 

Henrietta, without at once replying, without looking at 
the speaker, again surveyed the stone-grey walls ; the 
curtains striped primrose and grey ; the bedspread of 
deep cream-coloured, coarse silk, handwoven in Greece ; 
the three photographs framed in narrow black — one of 
herself, one of Pauline, one of Mrs. Norris in youth. 

“ He’s not stupid,” she finally answered. “No, he’s 
sensitive. But youth to youth, what ? You’ve never 
been young, Claire, and what’s more you’ll never be old. 
You’re the heir of all the ages. Now Pauline’s young. 
You’ve only got to see her pretending to be a grown-up 
lady to know that. And she is pretty, by Jove ! I 
suppose he’s coming here ? ” 

“ Yes (I don’t know what you’re at, Henrietta) I’m 
trying to arrange to go to Sparrows for the week-end, but 
I don’t know if Papa won’t cut up rough. And now,” 
she went on, glancing over her shoulder with a firm, 
gentle air, “ hadn’t you better go to bed ? ” 

“No. It’s only two-thirds kindness and considerate- 
ness that makes you say that, Claire, and the other third 
is unwillingness to face it out. Am I a beast to discuss 
it ? Am I being interfering and odious ? Perhaps I am. 
No, I don’t think so. You’re excessively secretive, Claire ; 
I often suspect you horribly of the very highest motives. 
Don't be too scrupulous, oh don’t ! It doesn’t pay. 
Isn’t Clement yours to take ? Why, he doesn’t even 
know he’s attached to Pauline yet. You’re his friend, 
and if you want him, for the Lord’s sake take him ! ” 
Claire, at her friend’s second sentence, had turned from 
her trivial occupation, and, facing the speaker, stripped 
from herself the first veils of reserve and answered steadily. 


PREMEDITATION 139 

in spite of inward turmoil : ''You yourself talked about 
‘ youth to youth ’ just now. Don’t you see that is just 
why I can’t ? ” 

" Oh, I knew it was that. Claire, that’s sheer over-care- 
fulness. Must you always be cheated for fear of cheating 
some one ? Isn’t there a right place to cut the stuff so 
that neither you nor the shop is cheated ? Just because 
you’re more grown-up than Clement, must you deny 
yourself him ? — and it’s denying him you, too. Think 
what he’ll miss ! No, of course you can’t think. Oh, 
Claire, it’s not everybody that has a chance of marrying 
you ; and don’t let one of the very few miss his chance 
just because you’re too nice to influence his choice ! 
That would be too perverse.” 

'' Supposing I did influence, and then found out after- 
wards I wasn’t the right person and — say — Pauline was.” 

''Yes, say ' Pauline.’ Be brave, Claire dearest. It’s 
now or never. It was obvious when he was here what the 
situation was. Supposing you did find out afterwards ? 
Only you won’t. You’re ten times too good for him — I 
think of course — but I’m prejudiced. Besides, my dear, 
is it ever safe ? Neither you nor Clement can escape risks. 
Marriage is a lottery, what ? And with Pauline, or what- 
ever other Pauline he may hit on, won’t it be a dud raffle 
from the start ? I know how fond you are of her, but 
you’ll admit he’s not her cut. She knows it ; she’s 
hardly looked at him — couldn’t tell you the colour of his 
eyes or his taste in cigarettes for nuts.” 

Claire, hearing her own counter arguments put forward 
by another, weighed them slowly, and acknowledged their 
worth ; but unfortunately their potency was not thereby 
increased. She had desired to act at their behest more 
keenly than Henrietta could possibly desire it for her, 
but every impulse born of this desire had been thwarted 
by a profound and obscure instinctive inhibition. And, 
saddest of all, in the conflict between inclination and 
inhibition, her moral sense upheld the latter. 

" Yes,” she finally answered, "I do see ; and I half 


140 QUIET INTERIOR 

agree, I mean that for somebody else I should agree ; I 
shouldn’t dream of thinking anyone else had done wrong, 
in circumstances like mine. Only, Henrietta, don’t you 
see, I just can*t do it.” 

There was a long silence while they regarded each other ; 
Claire in a silk kimono of white embroidered in wistaria 
standing with her hands resting behind her on a chair-back, 
her dark hair hanging in smooth falls on either side of her 
delicate, fine-cut face ; Henrietta, hatless now, her ashen- 
yellow hair ruffled above her dark mauve-circled eyes and 
colourless cheeks, sitting forward in the deep low chair, 
her thin restless hands clasped tightly together. At last 
the latter rose and approaching her friend laid a hand on 
her sleeve. 

“ Well, anyway,” she said, ” will you go to Sparrows 
with an open mind ? I mean will you give the thing a 
chance ? It may happen of its — or rather of his — accord. 
You wouldn’t think that immoral, would you ? ” Claire, 
smihng a little, shook her head, and the other pursued : 
” Give it every chance you can, short of poking it under 
his nose. Be yourself — he couldn’t help it, oh, surely he 
couldn’t if he knew you ! ” 

” But Henrietta,” Claire answered in a strangled voice, 
” 1 am myself with him. I do nothing either way. I 
want to be his friend.” 

” Oh darling, was what I said unkind ? I know you 
are, I know you do. Forgive me. Perhaps I’ve gone at 
you too much. Only I do so want you to have what you 
want, and you seem to be an enemy to yourself.” 

They stood a moment, hand-clasped, with all the sense 
of friendship — ^the strength and deep-rootedness of sisters’ 
love, the loyalty and tenderness of chosen comradeship — 
between them. They severed their hands then and did 
not kiss. 


PART TWO 
ENCOUNTER 





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CHAPTER XI 
At Sparrows 

Claire and Clement took the six o’clock train from 
Paddington on Saturday arriving at Rankley at half past 
seven. An open taxi awaited them, and into this they 
hastened with Matthew, anxious to leave behind the 
overgrown, subiurban, sophisticated, comic-opera, river- 
side village. Escaping the last row of red, pedimented, 
turreted, gabled, bow-windowed, Gothic-Byzantine villas, 
they passed into open country and the hueless April 
evening. Claire heaved a soft sigh, and then drew in 
with calm joy the pure scent of the spring. Clement sat 
tense beside her, like an expectant dog ; until, rounding 
a corner, between high, grassy, chalk banks topped with 
thorn bushes pale with bloom, they saw before them the 
goal of their journey : the downs raised their serene, 
curved shoulders, neutral coloured against the faint, 
starless sky ; they looked smooth in the dusk ; the 
juniper bushes that dotted them, the outcrops of chalky 
soil which scarred them, the friends perceived by pre- 
knowledge only, for they were at this distance invisible 
to the eye. Now Clement relaxed his muscles, and 
leaned back. The road led to Sparrows, the Norrises’ 
house, and to Sparrows Farm, his old home. The farm- 
house was hidden, though not far off. The Norrises’ 
house, Sparrows proper, was visible from the road, which, 
passing it, ran a hundred yards farther before becoming 
a track which climbed steeply up the down. 

Before and about Sparrows lay a carefully shaven lawn, 
on which stood fruit trees in full blossom, now showering 
pink and white petals upon grass which was mown and 


143 


144 QUIET INTERIOR 

rolled, swept and tended like a putting green, and whereon 
in autumn, apples and pears, damsons and plums, would 
fall. The short gravel drive which skirted the green, 
crackled with a familiar sound to Claire under the slowing 
wheels of the car, and the familiar doorway suddenly 
became a radiant square as someone inside lit up the hall 
for welcome. 

Mrs. Ellis appeared on the step, and leaving her in 
charge Claire quickly led Clement and Matthew into the 
living-room. We'll go out after supper,” she said. 

That meal was already laid in the room they entered : 
a room by which almost any sensitive person would have 
been repulsed and would immediately have been puzzled 
by the repulsion ; it was large and very simple, with the 
self-conscious, expensive simplicity of light stained oak 
pannelling, oak boards and rush matting. One almost 
looked for a highly moral motto carved upon the mantel- 
piece. The two French windows on one side and the deep- 
seated, rectangular bow on another had handwoven linen 
curtains shot blue and green, now closely drawn. The 
arm-chairs were of pale wicker, and besides these there 
was a trestle table, a light oak Broadwood grand, a 
bookshelf, a marble bust of Mrs. Norris, and a fine print 
of Sir Isumbras at the Ford.” Claire’s first act was 
to straighten the picture. 

You’ll be a first class old maid soon,” said her com- 
panion, smiling. 

Probably,” she agreed, giving him only half her 
attention. The familiar charm of the room was beginning 
to reconquer her ; she had forgotten its beautiful pro- 
portions, whose restfulness no signs of the modern cult 
for a semblance of plain living and high thinking on 
£5,000 a year could destroy. Turning at the door she 
called Matthew, and glanced across at the young man, 
who, holding the curtain aside gingerly because of police 
regulations, was peering out at the river valley. His 
khaki toned well — ^too well — with the colours of the 
room. 


AT SPARROWS 145 

** Clement, come and change before supper,” she said, 
at which he left the window and followed her upstairs. 
Sparrows only had two floors ; all the Norrises except 
Pauline faced the river valley ; the youngest girl and the 
visitors overlooked the fruit trees and the road ; the 
servants slept above the kitchen, which was overhung by 
the downs. 

Claire changed quickly into an old tweed skirt and grey 
sweater, the surface of her brain occupied all the time by 
the silence which surrounded the house ; not the brief, 
uneasy, breathless silence with which she had become 
acquainted returning from dances after midnight in 
London, not the scared silence of air-raids, punctuated 
by the scutter of hurrying feet, the boom of guns, the thud 
of bombs, the patter of shrapnel ; but the profound quiet 
of the country which flows back, when the distant shriek 
of a train has rent it, like water closes over a dropped 
stone ; and whose strength and peace is lessened or 
disturbed by that noise, the twitter of birds, the tinkle of 
sheep bells, the rustle of rain on the leaves no more than 
the movements of ocean tides and currents are modified by 
the faint vibration of drowned bells whose chiming is 
heard on quiet evenings. Claire felt the silence take her 
ears, as the quiet, nameless colour of dusk had taken her 
eyes ; she felt the country claim her. It was not with a 
sense of homecoming that she returned to Sparrows ; 
but at each return she experienced afresh this sense of the 
country claiming her, not loudly, not insistently, not even 
abruptly, but as the tide reclaims the beaches, as the tide 
of spring covers the land again, imperceptibly at first, 
always invincibly. Claire gave herself up to it with 
luxury ; peace possessed her. 

After supper, and when Matthew also had been fed and 
coffee drunk, Claire said : “ Shall we go ? ” and on 

Clement answering with '' Come on, Matthew, come on, 
old boy ! ” she knew that he was thinking of Bond. 

They went out of the front door ; the chow, snuffing 
the ground, ran off into the darkness. The friends passed 

k 


146 QUIET INTERIOR 

through the gate and walked up the road towards the 
down. Where the road became a track a thorn bush 
stood, still and pale in the faint starhght ; and, fainter 
still, the tiny, scattered daisies made a milky way upon the 
ground. The air was windless under the hill ; each tree, 
each tussock of lady’s bedstraw, each bank of primroses, 
had its own aura of unmingled scent hanging above it ; 
but through all, about, between, were the damp, pure, 
wild, delicate smells of earth and sap and spring. 

“ It’s splendid,” said Clement softly, hands in pockets. 
” What a good idea it was of yours.” 

” To come ? ” 

“Yes. You do have good ideas, Claire,” he added with 
a tone of reasonableness. 

His companion smiled to herself in pure pleasure at his 
praise, and was simultaneously aware of her rising joy at 
being in his company, in the country, in the quasi-darkness, 
and of the almost unfamiliar sensation of smiling ; it was 
a long time, she thought, since she had smiled spontane- 
ously, at and for her own satisfaction only. That was 
just it : there were no social, no family, exigencies here ; 
those which existed, if any did, were of a different nature — 
were the deeper, weightier exigencies produced by volun- 
tary proximity and friendship, and were therefore, 
though infinitely more difficult of fulfilment, infinitely 
more worth while. Whatever burden she found here to 
bear was the result of her own action, her own emotion, 
her own pride and power ; it was part of her pride then to 
accept it, to assume it without hesitation ; part of her 
power that she did not falter or look back. It had indeed 
been her idea to come — ^whether a good one, she could not 
say ; but if Clement thought so, and still thought so on 
Monday morning, she would think so too. It was all for 
him, her idea ; and if for her too, only indirectly, through 
him ; and so, if it turned out after all to be bad for her, 
that would be a secondary matter. It was for Clement 
that the week-end had been planned and brought about ; 
and that was why, at his gentle words, her heart lifted 


AT SPARROWS 147 

with j oy . She had resolved yesterday to live only through 
him while his leave lasted ; to purge her mind of its own 
bitterness, suspense and fear, not even to indulge in 
rapture ; but to be his mirror, to take colour from his 
moods, motion from his impulses, and what happiness 
she could from his serenity. 

It seemed at this moment that her task was easy, her 
burden as light as thistledown. She had only to climb 
the chalky track by the young man's side ; only to be a 
child again — a sensitive and tractable child, finely re- 
sponsive to the moods of her companion, glowing at his 
word of praise, quick with laughter at his jests, and 
cloaked in pensive gravity during his reveries. It was the 
first time that she had felt younger than Clement Parsons ; 
she possessed now for the first time the elder brother whom 
in childhood she had passionately desired. A phantom 
with ill-discerned features, this brother had once per- 
sistently haunted the garden of her Leicester home ; but 
he had gradually ceased to haunt it, and had finally 
vanished altogether. For many years she had been self 
sufficient ; during the last six months her need of hint, 
had recurred, unrecognised, and in a very different form. 
Now both self-sufficiency and need were wiped out : 
to-day, to-night, Claire Norris was perfectly contented. 
She did not ask, she did not even dwell on, his love, nor 
wish to tell her own. With a dear brother, trust and 
sympathy and ease are felt ; affection is assumed. She 
felt that to-night these things existed between them to a 
degree of which she had scarcely dreamed or hoped ; she 
had dreamed of ecstasy, had hoped for love, but this had 
been given her instead. It might be less than her desire, 
but it was more, and more exquisite, than anything she 
had known : it was happiness. 

They climbed diagonally up the down and paused by 
a lambing-box to light, Clement his pipe, Claire a cigar- 
ette. Turning, they surveyed the valley, with its river 
and cornfields, elms and farmsteads, railway and villages, 
all indistinguishable now ; and, close below the feet of 


148 QUIET INTERIOR 

the friends, the dark blot of Sparrows, link between the 
lowland and the upland — its surrounding garden half 
soft and blossom-blurred, half bare and grey-flagged — 
facing the river and the railway, but, in a certain stark- 
ness of outline, showing its kinship with the natural 
bastions and rolling tops, the pale green and silver, the 
wind, the whisper of bent grass, the tracks and dew- 
ponds and mounded earthworks of the downs behind it. 
It was the sense of these things that occupied the young 
man and the girl as they stood for several moments ; it 
was this sense which was most distinctly and profoundly 
common to them, though they did not speak of it. 
Claire’s more recent acquisition of this possession was 
balanced by her more deliberate and epicurean recogni- 
tion of it. The renewal of contact with the source made 
her realise how strong the hold of the place was on her. 
Compared with Clement’s uninterrupted eight years of 
communion, her own mere sojourns throughout three 
summers, added to a few fragmentary visits, seemed a 
paltry acquaintanceship ; and yet she could not think 
her emotion paltry, and all the less because she shared 
it with Clement. Supposing he had come from his 
mother’s country of fens and grey seas and shingle 
beaches, or from the lakes, or from the heavy red soil 
of Devonshire, of what a joy she would have been robbed ! 

After whistling and calling for some time they heard 
sounds of panting, and discerned Matthew, who rejoined 
them with obvious relief. They sat down on the step 
of the lambing-box. A train went down the valley 
clankingly. 

“ I like your tobacco,” said Claire, sniffing the strong, 
sweet odour. '' I used to lie in bed and hear the trains,” 
she presently went on, at our old house outside Leices- 
ter, and long to go off in them for long journeys.” 

” I like trains at night, but not in the day,” Clement 
answered. 

” Yes. The lighted windows. And they have a sort 
of self-contained look — ^like ships. Independent of the 


AT SPARROWS 149 

world and the weather. Going on and on, with faces 
looking out.” 

“ Yes,” said the young man. 

Their phrases dropped one by one into the stillness. 
Rankley might have been thirty miles away. 

‘‘ One can’t believe in it — ^here,” said Clement suddenly. 

Claire thought for a moment that he was thinking of 
his father’s death, but something in the poise of his 
head when she glanced at him reminded her of the war, 
and, turning away, she involuntarily breathed a short 
groan. 

He looked at her quickly. What is it ? ” 

** I’d forgotten,” she answered, and lifted her hand 
towards his sleeve — ^the rough, indeterminate-coloured 
tweed of former times, livery of peace, a fabric which 
he would not wear again for she knew not how long a 
period. “ I’d forgotten,” she repeated, but it’s the 
last time I shall be able to ! ” 

You mustn’t worry about me,” said Clement ; and 
then with increasing animation : '' Oh, I say, Claire, 
you mustn’t worry. It will cheer me up to think of you 
being festive at home.” 

Festive ! ” All Claire’s pity and irony and tender- 
ness, all her sense of his boyishness, his unconcern, his 
danger, and of her own situation was distilled into her 
repetition of the word. 

Presently the young man went on : “ Father wouldn’t 
have liked me not to go — you agree about that, don’t 
you ? ” 

Yes . . . Yes . . . I’m sure you’re right.” 

“ I think I am, Claire. He said England ought never 
to have been in the Entente — I know that. But we 
discussed once whether I ought to go on the nail, but 
he said then * Perhaps next winter, if they want men 
badly.’ So you see I know he wouldn’t have disapproved. 
And another time he said he wondered how the ewes 
would lamb without me, as though he’d been thinking it 
over. Well, they had to.” 


150 QUIET INTERIOR 

Claire’s heart sank. She wished passionately that 
Clement would keep silence, or would discuss trivialities 
only, and at the same moment despised herself for a 
useless and selfish friend. His words, his familiar tone 
of mingled reason and self-justification, were destroying 
her calm content, their silent sympathy and community 
of feeling. Her happy mood was being stripped from 
her ; in a few moments she would be once more naked 
to the cold blast of the world. She concentrated her 
faculties on retaining her mood while summoning a 
genuine response to his tacit demand ; she would not 
put Clement off with spurious goods. Apparently 
unconscious, however, of the significance of her silence, 
he went on speaking : 

“ You see, I do think war is idiotic ; but I’ve got no 
moral objection to fighting ; I’d use my fists this minute 
if I saw fit ; and so would any pacifist who isn’t a fish. 
Margesson — I told you about him, didn’t I ? ” 

“Yes.” It was hke Clement, she thought, to make 
his first man friend of a Jew whose real name was Mosen- 
stein, and whom most of the mess despised because he 
was a Jew diamond-merchant. He did so in no spirit 
of defiance or deliberate originahty ; he simply preferred 
Margesson to the rest. 

“ Well, Margesson says that if you put a pacifist 
opposite a German he’d be pummelling him before you 
could say * knife ! ’ But then Margesson is so down on 
his second cousins that he won’t hear a word in their 
favour . . . Claire ! ” 

She turned to him at his new tone. “ What is 
it ? ” 

“ I made a will the other day,” he answered, “ and 
I’ve left you everything,” 

Claire was astounded. 

“ You see, none of my relations need any cash, and I’d 
rather some one I was fond of had it. You can do what- 
ever you like with it.” 

His companion’s only intelligible thought was that 


AT SPARROWS 151 

she had heard it remarked how every man who went to 
the front felt convinced of his own doom. 

“ Well, that’s all right then,” said Clement, almost 
as though he had expected opposition ; ” it’s too ripping 
here to fret about wills and so on.” 

” No, it’s not ! ” his friend suddenly contradicted, 
coming to herself with one of her occasional spurts of 
incisiveness. ” That’s exactly where you’re wrong, 
Clement. ‘So on,’ by which I suppose you mean 
being done in, is just the thing we must fret about ” ; 
for she had perceived from his tone that his mind was 
preoccupied with the idea of his own death, and that he 
was putting it by for her sake. ” It’s the one thing that 
matters,” she added. 

“Not the one thing.” 

“ Yes,” she answered more slowly. “ Either it’s 
glorious to be killed for England, or else it’s vile and 
unbearable to have to die, or else it’s what the other 
chaps are doing, so you may as well get done in too. 
Whatever you feel, it matters, because it's the end of 
hfe.” 

“ But does hfe matter ? And what about immor- 
tality ? ” 

“ I don’t know if hfe matters, only one always finds 
oneself assuming that it does. As for immortality. I’m 
not going to hug sham comforts of that kind. Not 
that it would be a comfort to me.” 

“ Why ? Surely you’d like to be with people 
again ? ” 

“No. Take Russell Lincoln ; it would be no use to 
me to prove that he still existed — some vital part of him, 
when all the rest of him isn’t there. I shouldn’t recog- 
nise whatever it is that goes on, if anything does. It 
wouldn’t be Russell unless it was a thin young man with 
sleek black hair. People aren’t themselves without their 
bodies. Why, Clement, if you came to me, invisible, 
and somehow made me know you were there, if you 
spoke, it would be an absolute mockery ! — it would be 


152 QUIET INTERIOR 

horrible ; it wouldn’t make up to me for not having the 
real you as you are now.” 

“ Wouldn’t it ? I don’t know — I don’t feel sure.” 

Clement’s tone became more deliberately measured in 
his unwillingness to be carried away by another’s passion- 
ate opinion. ” Yes, I think I agree there’s not much 
satisfaction in ghosts. And, personally, I don’t want to 
be immortal.” 

” O Lord, nor do I. As Henrietta says : * Too much 
is good enough for me.’ And an5rway, I don’t believe 
it ... I say, Clement,” she pursued after a silence, 
” you won't take undue risks, will you ? Don’t be 
rash.” 

” My dear Claire, have you ever known me be rash ? ” 

” No, but you may be different out there. Don’t 
grow covetous of a V.C.” 

” Great Scott, no ! ” 

They rose simultaneously, and as they did so, a little 
breeze stirred along the face of the hill, the juniper 
bushes rustled, and somewhere far off below them a 
donkey began to bray. 

The moke’s right,” said Clement, ” it will rain 
to-morrow.” 

Sunday did indeed begin in fine misty rain which lent 
the fruit trees a strange Japanese beauty. Towards 
eleven, however, it ceased ; and the friends took lunch 
in a packet and started off up the downs. They looked 
down at Sparrow’s Farm, but saw no signs of the new 
ownership, and made no comments. At the summit of 
the first hill they found the track, on which bright, pale- 
purple dog violets and tiny milkworts, pink and blue, 
made a diapered pattern. They followed it south-west, 
and it led them gradually upwards until they saw a 
group of ill-nourished beeches, a dreary grey house, a 
pond, and, behind, a few poor fields. A villainous one- 
eyed, black-and-grey sheepdog skulked near a well, and 
an imbecile boy appeared to be doing nothing in a cabbage 


AT SPARROWS 153 

patch. The half-dozen white ducks on the pond were 
the only cheerful objects in sight. The whole, however, 
was to Claire’s taste. It was as though part of the chalk 
and turf had reared itself up into a dwelling-place for 
men ; the imbecile was less repugnant regarded as a 
sod into whom an unpitying deity had breathed unwilhng 
life. 

Clement grunted disgustedly at the ill-kept fields, and 
averted his head after one glance at the boy among the 
cabbages. 

Yes, I know,” Claire agreed ; Fd like everybody 
to be prosperous ; but I like this all the same. It 
reminds me of Wuthering Heights.” 

” I wouldn’t mind so much they’re not being pros- 
perous if they appeared to care at all,” he answered. 
” But they’re half dead. There’s no kick in ’em.” 

” Poor things ! Why should they kick ? They’ve 
nothing to Hve for.” 

” Well, they might try. They let everything go to 
rack and ruin. The man’s always at the pub.” 

After that, the girl herself was glad to leave the farm- 
house behind ; she began to listen to the dry, eternal 
lisp of the grasses — a sound only comparable, in its 
monotony, its imassuming persistency, to the sound of 
the sea ; and one which entranced her. Even when the 
face feels no breeze, the down grasses whisper ; the dew 
is dried from them as soon as it is formed. It was this 
sound, and the space and loneliness, which gave Claire 
the sensation of being on the roof of the world, though 
she knew they were at no great height. She shed her 
troubles, which had gathered round her once more in the 
night ; here they left her, transported on the wind ; she 
even ceased to be keenly aware of her companion ; the 
growing warmth of the sun breaking through high mists 
was more present to her. 

They ate their sandwiches seated where their track 
was crossed by another, and where thorn bushes grew 
white. Since the cessation of rain the upper mists had 


154 QUIET INTERIOR 

been breaking into huge white rounded fragments of 
cloud, which were being blown across the blue, and 
now that the sun had appeared they trailed their shadows 
across the disproportionately small landscape, whose far 
fields were bright checkers of colour, and whose village 
spires shone suddenly. 

They began to talk of London and their friends. 
Clement asked when Hilary was coming home. 

** She’s due this month ... I used to be awfully 
fond of her. Of course she’s exactly like a sister. I 
wish you could see her — but you will when you come 
on leave. You’ll come to Westminster, won’t 
you ? ” 

** Can I ? I’m beginning to look on your house as my 
home.” 

Ah, do ! ” Claire murmured ; and began to watch 
him covertly as they munched — ^to watch him deliberately, 
that she might be able later, in silence and secrecy, to 
remember how he looked : his thick, straight, mouse- 
coloured hair, his evenly-tanned skin, tight at the temples, 
his candid eyes, his air of lively serenity. An acquaint- 
ance might have thought self-reliance his chief latent 
characteristic, but his friend knew his reliance to be less 
on himself than on what he felt or had found to be 
reliable : primarily on his father, on herself, and — ^with 
a more conscious, reasoned trust — on the earth. There, 
he believed, lay the ultimate solution, the final cure, 
the stable friend ; to this he would return after the 
war, to serve and in return to be served, to master and 
to love. Claire’s estimate of him as an undeveloped boy 
did not allow for so fundamental a change in his char- 
acter as would make him transfer his allegiance from the 
earth to another mistress ; for this was the most pro- 
nounced, and at the same time, the least instinctive of 
his traits. When he did develop, it would show, she 
thought, in his attitude towards people and in his rela- 
tions with them. Perhaps she was mistaken in thinking 
that it was his character which was immature ; but the 


AT SPARROWS 155 

word temperament meant nothing to her ; it was not 
in her vocabulary ; and as for emotion, she knew that 
Clement could and did feel ; but then so do children, 
with the same degrees of intensity, we are led to believe, 
as fully-developed persons. Possibly Claire would have 
agreed that Clement was like a very intelligent, sensible 
and attractive child ; a child incomparably dear. 

Claire, however, was a woman ; and her reliance was 
upon herself. She began to wonder, as she so often did, 
how much share she could take in his future life, sup- 
posing he had a future, supposing he wanted her to share 
it, supposing 

** I think of your people almost as if they were mine,” 
Clement said, interrupting her thoughts. ” Your mother 
is so kind to me, and you and Pauline — it’s all so — so 
comfortable and easy. When I arrived last night, it 
wasn’t, somehow, a bit like coming to stay at a friend’s 
house. Mr. Norris is the only one I feel a stranger 
with ; I don’t mean that he isn’t nice to me — but different 
from Mrs. Norris. She seems to take me so for granted 
now.” 

” Yes, she does; she didn’t at the beginning — ^when 
you came last October. But she does now. I believe 
even father does now, in his own funny way.” 

“How impersonal you are, Claire ! Your way of 
speaking of your family sounds as though you didn’t care 
a damn for them.” 

“ Then my way’s very misleading. I do care — 
awfully for Pauline, and a lot for mother, and a little 
for father. I can’t say about Hilary until I see her 
again.” 

“ Cautious as usual, you straw-chopping, hair-splitting, 
precise young school-marm ! ” 

“ Oh, Clement, am I as beastly as all that ? ” she 
asked with an anxiety that was only half in jest, turning 
to him her pure, small, fine-cut face. 

“ Ah,” he teased her, smiling ; and then with an 
accent of hesitating gravity and with a softened 


156 QUIET INTERIOR 

expression he added : “I can see how you care for them, 
of course, my dear/’ 

At his look Claire had held her breath ; at the end 
of his sentence she let it very slowly and gently escape 
her. Her eyes, which she had fixed on his face as she 
questioned him had remained intently there ; she now 
with an effort changed their direction. 

They both sat in silence, looking out over the sunlit 
and cloud-shadowed landscape. The grasses whispered 
and some stonechats gossiped close by. It was warm for 
April, Claire thought, and presently found herself saying 
so. The young man did not reply, and they spoke 
scarcely at all during the rest of the walk. 

Later in the afternoon, when the light was exquisitely 
oblique and the dog-violets almost glowed, they returned 
to Sparrows. The fruit tree nearest the gate was a 
double cherry, and as they paused under it, Claire looked 
up to see the heavenly blue between the snowy blooms ; 
for several moments she stood there, her eyes dazzled 
with beauty, her ears filled with the whistling of birds, 
a music wild and poignant, yet homely and familiar. She 
remembered the cherry tree in The Egoist, and despised 
herself a little for having room in her mind at this time 
for literary associations. “ Perhaps I am a school- 
marm,” she thought, as she moved towards the house 
with her companion. 

After supper Clement went by himself to visit Spar- 
rows Farm. Claire passed a dreary hour playing through 
a book of old songs and nursery rhymes. At last, when 
she thought he must soon be returning, she put on a 
coat and went out on to the drive. The apple-blossom 
scent was strong, and resembled the scent of clover ; it 
dominated the other odours. She paced up and down 
the gravel drive filled each moment by a more pronounced 
sense of childish forlornness ; not so much a sense of 
helplessness as one of unreasoning fear and desire for 
soothing caresses, tender words, petting, cosseting and 
indulgence. She remembered an identical mood which 


AT SPARROWS 157 

had occurred years ago one evening when Mrs. Norris 
was giving a dinner-party. Claire, on the way from 
bath to bed after an unsuccessful day had been irresis- 
tibly attracted by the half-open door of her mother's 
room, and, rushing impetuously in, had flung herself 
weeping on the peacock silk and black lace maternal 
breast for comfort. She had not understood her mood 
of inexplicable unhappiness then ; Mrs. Norris’s ex- 
planation of her being “ out of sorts ” and nurse’s of her 
being a greedy, bilious girl, equally failed to convince 
her. Now that she was grown-up no one could accuse 
her of over-eating; and the phrase “out of sorts” 
meant nothing. She found no words to express or 
explain the acute need she had to throw herself into 
some sympathetic arms — preferably those of some one 
who would ask no questions. Tears of self-pity began to 
well up in her eyes ; and at that moment she heard 
Clement coming down the road whistling : 

“I’ve lost my appetite ; 

Can’t sleep a wink at night,’* 

and, turning quickly, she ran into the house, up the 
stairs, into her room, pushed the door close, and, kneehng 
by the bed in the dark, broke into sobs. 

Presently she heard the young man calling her from 
the hall, and, rising, she put on the light, and tidied 
herself. According to her mirror, she looked, after a 
few seconds, much as usual, but her inward composure 
had not completely returned. Her mind felt like the 
sea tossing after a brief storm of wind and rain. 

Her watch told her it was after ten o’clock ; but she 
could not let Clement’s last evening end like this, even 
had her pride not demanded that she should face him 
and defy her lurking weakness. She went down and 
soberly entered the living-room. The young man, who 
was reading, shut his book and got up. 

“ I saw Farlow’s bailiff, Crewe,” he said. “ Quite a 
good chap with a French wife. I remember now, Farlow 


158 QUIET INTERIOR 

told me a yarn about Crewe, when he was farming over 
at Henley. Crewe’s a middle-aged man with a son, and 
was a widower ; and the son went out to France and 
took up with this girl — I should think she has been a 
shop-girl — perfectly straight you know, a regular little 
bourgeoise. Well, the son came home on leave and brought 
this girl with him ; she came from the devastated area 
and her people had lost all their things. Farlow said 
old Crewe had kicked up the devil of a row at the notion 
of a French daughter-in-law ; and then when young 
Crewe was killed, he married the girl himself.” 

” Rather amusing ! ” said Claire ; but although her 
tone sounded to her own ears quite normal, Clement 
looked at her as though he detected a flaw in her com- 
posure. He did not often let his eyes dwell on faces : 
a direct, brief glance when he met or addressed some one, 
a shghtly longer look if the person was a new acquaint- 
ance or strikingly peculiar, usually sufficed him ; as 
has been said, his estimate of character was quickly 
and instinctively formed ; he was not given to 
speculation. 

But now his eyes, resting on Claire, had a speculative 
expression, and meeting them with hers after an instant 
of hesitation, during which she averted her head, she 
perceived something quite unfamiliar in his countenance, 
so unfamiliar that she was startled. Speculation had 
gone from his eyes, and instead she saw on all his features 
the stamp of disconcerted realisation, combined with 
some other emotion which she did not recognise. As 
they stood mutely confronting each other in the brightly- 
lit room, she saw that whatever the emotion was, it was 
not in conflict with his sense of discovery ; it blended 
with that sense ; it was a result or a corollary. She 
continued to stand and to gaze for what seemed a long 
time, wondering what it might be. Her first thought — 
and it was a fear — ^had been that Clement knew that she 
loved him ; but as the seconds passed and he neither 
showed embarrassment nor made an effort to conceal his 


AT SPARROWS 159 

discomposure, she knew that it was some more directly 
personal sensation which absorbed him. She did not 
know how he would look if he did discover that she 
loved him, but she knew that he would not look like this. 
Then she saw the expression of discovery fade and 
vanish ; only the urgent, vivid, unrecognised emotion 
was left. Claire stood stock still ; until suddenly an 
obscure instinct made her retreat before it. She had 
not recognised the visible stamp of passion, for she had 
never seen it before ; nor did she name it ; but a throb 
of warning went through her — brain and body — and as 
she moved, a flush sprang up her neck to cheeks and 
forehead. She could not for her life have said why she 
had stood and moved so. She stood trembling. The 
sight of movement and blush released Clement from his 
immobility, and turning quickly he went to the hearth 
and began to knock out his pipe. 

Claire after her single step had paused and stood now, 
pale once more, and motionless. Finally, after what 
seemed a long time, she said with extreme gentleness : 

I'll think ril go to bed. Will you shut the windows 
and lock up ? ” 

Right-0,” he answered without turning. 

She still hesitated. We shall have time to go for 
a walk in the morning, shan't we ? . . . Well, good 
night. Come on, Matthew.” 

Good night,” Clement answered as she closed the 
door. 

The next evening when Claire, after seeing Clement off 
to rejoin his battalion, returned to Westminster she 
knew by the hum of voices and click of spoons which 
came through the half-open dining-room door that the 
family was already assembled at table. 

They're only at the soup, miss,” said Alice 
encouragingly ; and as the girl hastened past her 
towards the stairs she added with suppressed excite- 
ment : “ Miss Hilary has arrived, Miss Claire. She 


i6o QUIET INTERIOR 

came after tea, and Mrs. Norris had dinner put on 
half an hour.'' 

The girl paused on the bottom step. “I shall be 
down in five minutes," she said slowly in a colourless 
voice, and turned to ascend. 


PART THREE 
THE STEADFAST FRIEND 


















CHAPTER XII 
The Happy Catechist 

It was several days since Hilary’s return and a week 
since Claire had held converse with Pauline. To Claire 
it had become plain that the domination under which 
the house and household was now existing was not, as 
she had at first vaguely supposed, the mere domination 
of an arrival, for the first excitement and hubbub of 
arrival had quickly died down ; it was the domination 
of a personality. It was not openly admitted, perhaps 
not even privately admitted by her parents and her 
younger sister : she did not know. Tom Norris pursued 
his ordinary life, with a section of which — lived in the 
library — she was closely associated ; her mother was her 
usual dreamy, untroubled self ; Pauline came and went 
as usual, gay, unconcerned, and yet not with the old 
scornful gaiety, the crude unconcern, of the days before 
she and her sister drew together. There was, perhaps, a 
fresh froth of interest on the meal-time intercourse that 
was pleasant ; but the domination which Claire suffered, 
and was sure that she did not suffer alone, made itself 
felt more subtly, more insistently. She wondered if 
her state of mind was abnormal, were her perceptions 
unusually sharp ? — for a continuous rumour of activity 
^seemed to hum through the house, like the tuneless song 
of spinning wheels sounding from an upper chamber. 
The rooms, too, seemed, at all times of the day and 
night, rather crowded ; and the maids gave an impres- 
sion of being busier than usual. Claire felt impelled to 
be exaggeratedly slow and idle as a protest. Hilary 
often made her a little contradictious, and sometimes, 

163 


i 64 quiet interior 

for this reason, she was a little sullen ; her elder sister’s 
brightness was monotonous. 

Claire stood, as was her habit after breakfast, looking 
out of the back drawing-room, at the planes in their 
spring greenery, and the April sky. Pauline came in ; 
she knew without turning whose step it was ; but never- 
theless she did, after a moment, turn for greeting. It 
was pleasant and quiet to be alone together again. She 
pushed away the confusion of her thoughts, as though 
she wished to offer her mind like a clean slate for Pauhne 
to inscribe with her clear, unhesitant, upright characters. 

Well ? ” Claire said, smiling a little. 

“ She’s in the library with father. You know, Claddie 
— give us a cigarette — I agree with him that some of 
Hilary’s questions are rather large orders. I mean 
about what England’s attitude towards the war is, and 
England’s attitude towards Russia and France and 
America, and so on. If I knew what England’s attitude 
was, I couldn’t say. But perhaps you could.” 

” It may seem unusually modest of me, but I couldn’t 
either — even if I was sure I knew,” her sister answered, 
smiling again a httle. To be alone with Pauline gave 
her an extraordinary sense of rehef and of escape — of 
escape from that strenuous, insurgent personahty into 
the company of one of a tenderer clarity, a softer tone ; 
from the troubled confusion of her own mind into the 
focus of a mind simple and unclouded. 

” It is too large an order,” she added presently, enjoy- 
ing how the phrase applied to Hilary ; their sister was 
a spacious creature ; her vitality, her unflagging interest 
in everyone and everything, her auburn-tinted brown 
hair, her broad, high-carried head, her direct gaze, her 
strong, varied tones were part of this spaciousness, and 
so were the topics she had touched on at the recent meal. 
She had discoursed of the Slavonic mentality and the 
trend of Slavonic literature and civilisation ; of the 
rhythm which could be discerned in the movements of 
national consciousness : its awakening and development. 


THE HAPPY CATECHIST 165 

its period of action or blooming, its decline and fall into 
sluggish slumber. She had cited the Greeks ; and had 
spoken incidentally of her visit to Athens and Delphi, 
and the islands in the autumn of 1913, and the opinion 
she had then formed of the modern Greeks. Nor had 
she bored her family, who sat with their eyes fixed on 
her, almost as though mesmerised by her full, lively 
voice. And yet, in retrospect, what did her talk amount 
to ? The impression left on Claire was of something 
pretentious ; she could not quite define the impression, 
and she had no wish to crystallise it in words at this 
moment. There was already, she thought, between 
herself and Pauline, a very faint feeling of partnership 
against the new-comer, and she had no desire whatever 
to encourage the feeling ; if it grew — and she hoped 
that it would not — it must be by the aid of whatever 
nourishment it found in the atmosphere, and in the 
proximity of the person against whom it was directed ; 
she would not foster it. And yet her friendship with 
Pauline would not let her remain hypocritically silent. 
Two loyalties seemed opposed — or was this merely a 
mental counterpart of the straw-chopping over words 
concerning which Clement had teased her ? 

“ There’s something very big about Hilary now she’s 
grown up,” she said at last, “ although I don’t feel yet 
that I know her at all. One thing I like awfully about 
her is the way she jumps from big things to quite small. 
She seems to take everything in her stride — not to ignore 
or crush the unimportant things.’" 

“You mean she wants to know about our friends as 
well as about England and all that ? ” 

“Yes. Didn’t you notice last night that she cross- 
questioned me about the dances we went to, and about 
the fashions this spring ? ” 

“Yes. Thank the Lord she's not turned into a dowd 
while kiteing round Europe,” Pauline replied cheerfully. 

Mrs. Norris and Hilary came into the room, the latter 
announcing that she had just thoroughly gone into 


i66 QUIET INTERIOR 

Claire’s system of filing papers. “ Do you know short- 
hand ? ” she asked, settling herself in a chair by the 
fire, where peat-sods burned. She sat with more com- 
fort than elegance — one knee thrown firmly across the 
other ; and yet her whole appearance, standing or seated, 
was pleasing. She looked healthy and contented, and she 
was well-groomed ; her fair, fresh-coloured face was un- 
lined, her brown eyes well fringed, her brown hair brushed 
and carefully dressed ; she had an upright carriage and 
fine, free movements, which were only occasionally 
awkward, and then as though from an exaggeration of 
fine freedom ; just as her voice, strong and varied, was 
sometimes brusque or insistent from overplus of self- 
confidence. She spoke always with authority, as though 
no doubt of her auditors’ wilhngness to listen had ever 
crossed her mind ; indeed, the complete unconsciousness 
of her self-confidence made her in her sister’s eyes almost 
unassailable : Hilary had clearly never envisaged herself 
in the hght of this, her outstanding characteristic. 

She was dressed in a green jersey and skirt — ^the colour 
to which, as a child, the copper tinge of her hair had 
destined her ; this tinge, darkened by maturity, was not 
now remarkable except in certain lights. Her eyes 
retained the chestnut colour, and, as Claire met their 
gaze, she noticed, not for the first time, their quality of 
hardness ; she had known opaque eyes, but Hilary’s 
were not opaque, they simply lacked expressiveness ; 
they were clear but not soft. 

No, unfortunately I don’t,” Claire answered, and her 
voice, instead of betraying her genuine regret at her 
ignorance of shorthand, sounded a little defiant. 

Oh, you could learn it in no time,” Hilary asserted. 
'' That's a very nice machine you’ve got. Did father 
get it for you ? ” 

“ No, Clement gave it to me for Christmas.” 

Clement who ? There’s a conspiracy to prevent my 
discovering who Clement is ! ” the other exclaimed. 

Claire replied : Clement Parsons,” and to the next 


THE HAPPY CATECHIST 167 

question, “ Is he in the army ? " Mrs. Norris answered : 
‘‘ Yes, poor boy.” 

They had the farm near Sparrows till old Mr. Parsons 
died,” said Pauline. 

After a pause, Mrs. Norris said to Claire : You and 
Pauline must arrange a party, dearest. Hilary is so 
anxious to meet all your friends. Is next Sunday one 
of your musical days ? ” 

“ Yes. The Benjamins are coming, anyway ” 

By the way, mother,” Pauline asked, '' can I have 
the car this afternoon ? IV s going to rain and I have a 
fitting.” 

But there’s no petrol, darling.” 

Oh, dash ! Never mind, it may not rain. I may 
catch a taxi.” 

“ What are you going to fit ? ” Hilary inquired. 

“ A fancy dress ; Leonard Benjamin and I are going 
to act a play called The Pierrot of the Minute , at a 
show of the Stokes’s.” 

** Leonard has set the songs,” Claire added. 

'' Shall I come to the fitting with you ? ” said Hilary. 

'' It’ll only be the lining. It’s going to be rather a 
dream, I think : Bill Osier’s idea of Watteau’s idea of 
a moon-maiden.” 

“ Bill Osier ? Is he the artist man ? The one who 
collects Chinese porcelain ? ” 

Yes,” Claire answered, and added, “ You’re awfully 
good at remembering who is who.” 

“ Ah, mes enfants, I shall get all London sorted out 
straight soon ! Well, what about Sunday ? Who else 
are you going to ask ? ” 

'' What about Henrietta ? ” Mrs. Norris suggested. 

Hilary will like her. She’s half French and so clever.” 
You didn’t tell me that, Claddie ! I love the French. 
Didn’t you say she had a brother ? ” 

Yes, but neither of them are really at all French. 
Henrietta has no nationality. She has a standing 
invitation for our Sundays. It’s no use asking Lucy,” 


i68 QUIET INTERIOR 

she went on, hastily forestalling a demand which she 
saw forming on Hilary’s lips, “ because he won’t come.’' 

“ Oh ? Why not ? Unmusical ? ” 

No ; he’s musical, but he doesn’t like people,” Claire 
retorted. 

He seems to be a curious young man,” Hilary ex- 
claimed, with an air of putting up a lorgnon to examine 
a monster, “ especially for a half -Frenchman ” 

Claire interrupted her gently. Oh, he’s just rather 
a misanthrope.” Her gentleness was due to her growing 
unwillingness to be further questioned ; but her sister 
pursued relentlessly : 

“ Can’t you get the Stokes and Hester Griegson 
whom Pauly was talking of last night ? ” 

Not Hester,” said Pauline. “ I like old Hester 
awfully, but she’s about as musical as the door-handle. 
It’s no good starting to make our Sundays into ordinary 
tea-fights, or the people who really care for music just 
won’t come.” 

Oh, I see,” Hilary returned, I hadn’t grasped that 
Sunday p.ms. were devoted solely to art.” 

“ Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Norris, vaguely placatory, 

but we’ll have a dinner-party soon, and then, if anyone 
wants to play or sing it will be simply as an — an amuse- 
ment — an incident.” 

Claire had a moment’s delightful curiosity as to how 
Hilary would take this speech, which, quite innocently 
placed her in the position of one who does not understand 
devotion to art. That her sister accepted it in silence 
pleased and yet disappointed her ; she had expected 
some adroit retort. Presently she and her mother left 
the room. 

Pauline offered Hilary the dragon-box of cigarettes, 
and the elder girl took from her pocket a small, slim, 
golden lighter. This was a birthday present,” she said, 
“ from such a charming boy at the Embassy — a perfect 
babe, you know, but a very intelligent babe, and such a 
dear.” 


THE HAPPY CATECHIST 169 

Rather a gilded baby, I should say, if he shelled out 
little objects like that ; it’s a lovely one.” 

Hilary looked a trifle blank, but quickly recovered 
and replied, smiling : 

“ Well, he wasn’t quite sans le sou ! You aren’t 
when you’re a Seymour-Wiseman — even if you’re only a 
third son.” 

Pauline had visions of snapshots in the T atler of some 
one and friend ” walking in the Park. 

By the way,” her sister went on, “ that reminds me ; 
I met a woman on my way home whose brother you 
know : Elliot. She’s married to a man in the navy. 
Her brother’s at the War Office. He’d mentioned in a 
letter that he’d been to a dance here.” 

Oh yes, Aylward Elliot.” 

That’s the man. Is he nice ? ” 

‘‘ Very nice.” 

“ I’d like to meet him. His sister and I got on 
famously. She knows everybody and told me lots of 
things that had been puzzling me for ages. He has 
a place in Scotland, hasn’t he ? ” 

“ Yes,” Pauline answered. '' I believe it’s a show, 
place. He’s keen on fishing.” 

“ Oh ? What else ? ” 

The other searched for something to say of Aylward 
Elliot which was not the information uppermost in her 
mind. Finally she produced : “ Oh — well. ... He 

calls himself a Tory Democrat, whatever that is.” 

“ Sensible man : it’s the coming thing, — a rapproche- 
ment between the Labour Party and the great landowners. 
I believe Lord Henry Bentinck invented the expression. 
But Pauline, I thought from the way Mrs. Byng spoke 
that — Major is he ? — Elliot was rather a great friend of 
yours or Claddie’s ” 

“ Oh, no ; not of hers.” 

“ Of yours, then ? What’s the matter ? Do you 
dislike him.” 

Over her sister’s transparent countenance a slight 


170 QUIET INTERIOR 

tremor of embarrassment had passed. The younger girl’s 
equanimity was not absolute proof against this persever- 
ing and brisk attack. But immediately her calm normal 
look returned, and she answered : Oh no, not at all. I 
like him awfully,” and rising composedly, walked to the 
door, opened it and whistled until Thomas came bounding 
up the stairs and into the room. 

” Where did he come from ? ” Hilary asked, eyeing 
the bull-dog. 

” Clement gave him to me ; he gave Claire Matthew 
at the same time.” 

” Clement seems to be a very generous young man. 
Well, it’s a jolly trait. What is he hke ? ” 

” Clement ? Oh, nothing special. Very nice. He’s 
devoted to farming and the country and all that.” 

” A heart of gold and a purse to match ? ” 

At Hilary’s words a flush spread over Pauline’s cheeks ; 
she did not herself know why she felt ashamed ; after a 
moment she answered : “Yes, I suppose he’s quite well 
off, but he’s not stupid, if that’s what you mean.. He’s 
a great friend of Claire’s ; trust her not to have stupid 
friends. I don’t know him very well, but I know he’s 
nice because she likes him.” 

Whether this reasoning appealed to the other or not 
she accepted it in silence, and released her sister from 
the confessional. 

At lunch the arrival of the post resuscitated a question 
which had arisen almost immediately after Hilary’s 
arrival, and which had then been tacitly put aside. It 
was Mr. Norris who raised it ; dealing out the letters he 
came to one which made him pause and glance over his 
glasses at his eldest daughter. 

“ One of your friends has forgotten your full title,” he 
said as he tossed her the envelope. 

Hilary examined the superscription with raised 
eyebrows. “ I think not,” she answered. “ This is 
probably for Claire : I don’t recognise the writing. Will 
you open it, Claddie, or shall I ? ” 


THE HAPPY CATECHIST 171 

“ Oh, you’d better,” her sister told her, casting a swift 
look of embarrassment round the table ; then, to cover 
the pause she added : ” You see while you’ve been away 
some people have got into the way of addressing me as 
Miss Norris.” 

” And won’t they go on ? ” her father exclaimed with 
good-humoured truculence, and beginning to carve : 
” Won’t they — er — continue so to do ? There’ll be no 
confusion — no chance for confusion, is there ? with 
Hilary’s what d’you call it ? — innovation ? ” 

” No dear, none,” Mrs. Norris answered pacifically. 
” Don’t give me any fat, Tom.” 

Meanwhile, Hilary had handed Claire the letter, which 
was, indeed the younger’ s and which she put away unread. 
By the concerted action of his family Tom Norris was 
prevented from dwelling on the question which Claire had 
known would inevitably rankle in his mind. Despite 
Hilary’s reasons for adding her real name to that of her 
adopted father’s, Claire sympathised with the latter in 
his displeasure. Hilary had pointed out that there were 
certain friends and distant relatives of her real father’s 
who, when and if she met them, would be ignorant of, or 
puzzled by her identity, unless she bore her real name ; 
this contingency had arisen in France where her elderly 
travelling companions had been at some pains to explain 
her origin to an acquaintance, an old intimate friend of 
Mr. Monk’s and who had dandled Hilary in infancy. 
This individual — into whose good graces Hilary had 
evidently been anxious to insinuate herself — had heard 
of her adoption but was not prepared to recognise in 
Miss Norris the tiny child he had known as Alan Monk’s 
kid. This incident was what suggested to Hilary the 
idea of combining Monk with Norris. Claire wished 
that she had simply changed from one to the other ; 
there seemed in the hyphened combination a lurking 
suggestion of an attempt to retain the advantages of 
both, of having it both ways ; and yet, she reflected, 
the complete change might have hurt Tom Norris even 


172 QUIET INTERIOR 

more than this. She suspected that he was a little hurt, 
but chiefly irritated ; he was predisposed to irritation 
with his adopted daughter — it was the penalty he and 
she paid for his generosity. Claire suspected, too, that 
he was irritated by the inherent snobbery of the action ; 
at all events he would find it one very hard to forgive. 

After lunch Hilary came down dressed for going out 
to the back drawing-room and found Mrs. Norris writing 
notes ; she did not however seem absorbed, and her 
daughter took the opportunity to ask her opinion of 
Major Elliot. 

“ He’s a nice man. Tom thought not very long ago 
that he was interested in Pauline, but T don’t know if 

there was anything in it ” She rose as she spoke 

and came to the fire, putting a foot on the fender and a 
hand on the mantelpiece. 

“ Oh,” said Hilary weightily. “ And what about 
Clement Parsons ? ” 

“ Clement’s a dear boy, a good boy. He’s an expert 
on sheep ; isn’t it amusing ? ” but she did not look in 
the least amused ; nor did Hilary, who sat with her direct 
chestnut-brown eyes fixed almost in a stare on her com- 
panion. The latter went rambling on : “He sold the 
farm by auction after his father died, and went straight 
into the army. I told you he had no mother, and no 
sisters or brothers ? Isn’t it sad — only an aunt and an 
uncle. But he doesn’t seem to set much store by them. 
His father didn’t, and of course he worshipped his father.” 

“ Is it a big farm ? ” 

“Not very big ; but then it was only a sort of hobby 
of old Mr. Parsons. He had private means ; only he 
disapproved of luxury. Claire tells me that before they 
came to Sparrows Farm, when Clement’s mother was 
alive, they lived in a cottage with one old servant and a 
few pigs — isn’t it called a small holding ? ” 

But Hilary was evidently not interested in the past 
history of the Parsons. 

“ Is he a captain, yet ? ” she asked. 


THE HAPPY CATECHIST 173 

“ Clement ? No, I don’t think so. He comes to us 
for his leave. He went to France just at the same time as 
you arrived.” 

''Is he good-looking ? ” 

"Not exactly handsome, no ; but he’s a well-set up 
young man, rather brown : not dark.” 

They heard Pauline’s voice on the stairs, and Mrs. 
Norris found herself abruptly left alone. 

Claire spent the afternoon working in the library. 
She had not heard her sister’s return but, shortly before 
tea-time, ascending the stairs to her room, she heard the 
schoolroom piano being played, and knew that Pauline 
anjrway was in. The moment after, the touch of the 
musician told her that it was not Pauline ; it was, 
therefore, Hilary. It sounded like her. Presently 
Pauline began to sing. Claire’s mind had until this 
moment remained occupied by her recent work, but at 
the sound of Pauline’s voice lifted to the other’s strong, 
firm, confident accompaniment — so different from her 
own — all preoccupation left her suddenly, and she stood 
on the threshold of her room, while her heart slowly 
filled with an almost prophetic sense of desolation and 
loss. 


CHAPTER XIII 
Emotion in Retrospect 

Claire’s sanctuary of self-reliance and secret strength 
had become a place of twilit confusion. Since the last 
evening at Sparrows she had ceased to understand 
herself : her own part in that strange encounter was no 
less obscure than Clement’s. The meaning of his trans- 
formed face was clear to her — ^had been clear at the 
moment when a warning like a single great heart -beat set 
her in retreat. What remained obscure was her stillness, 
of mind as well as body, after that moment — ^not the 
hesitation of the dismayed being thrown out of balance, 
but the stillness of an outpost listening for some secret 
scarcely-audible word of command. The word had come, 
she had immediately obeyed it ; but why, and what it 
was, she had yet to understand. She had been down 
into the pool, far below the eddies and the bubbles, and 
what she had brought up remained an enigma. 

It was now Saturday ; the imminence of Henrietta’s 
visit and their possible private colloquy increased Claire’s 
anxiety to bring daylight into her mind’s obscurity ; to 
know the worth and the significance of an action which 
corresponded to something in the depth of her nature. It 
was hard to think clearly, oppressed by grief of recent 
loss, and by the premonition of loss to come ; for although 
she had immediately put aside the latter as foolish, its 
memory remained. She was tempted to let thought 
slide, to dwell unresisting in the dim confusion of her 
feelings ; then taking advantage of a moment of revolt 
she called Matthew and went out into St. James’ Park. 

A shower was lately fallen, the trees, the grass, the 


174 


EMOTION IN RETROSPECT 175 

seats were freshene(J ; the sun appeared fitfully. After 
pacing for half an hour Claire paused to watch some 
children skipping and overheard a portion of the con- 
versation of two men who were seated close by. Both 
were obviously leisured ; the younger had a worried and 
a fretful manner, pulled at an unlit pipe and was care- 
lessly dressed. His friend was in contrast well groomed, 
urbane, deliberate in speech, and smoked a cigar. 

But my dear chap,'’ the elder was saying, give the 
thing a chance. Leave it alone, rest on your oars, take 
a holiday ; or, if you can’t do that, work at something 
quite different. You’re stale, that is what is the matter 
with you.” 

** It’s all very well to say let it alone ; but how can I, 
if it’s not to be hopelessly out of date and altogether 
pointless ? I must finish it this spring. In fact. I’ve 

promised it for next month ! It’s damnable ” 

I’m afraid you’ll find me tedious, my dear Hugh, but 
since you’ve asked me about it, I shall take the licence to 
bore you. Remember the cliche about mathematicians 
and their subconscious selves. Of course you know that 
that fellow who built the Assouan Dam and the Forth 
Bridge used to leave his problems unsolved, go to bed, and 
wake up to find the solution presented, so to speak, with 
his breakfast tray. It’s not at all an abnormal practice, 
and presumably there’s something in it.” 

Hugh’s response was a grunt, his companion pursued 
amiably, ” Well, but have you ever tried it ? ” 

Claire moved away as Hugh was grumpily admitting 
that he had so far left his subconscious self severely 
alone. She was faintly amused at the incident ; the 
irritable Hugh was evidently a man of letters. She 
wondered who had built the Assouan Dam. Hilary 
would probably know. How extraordinary to be an 
engineer ! She began to speculate about the circum- 
stances of Hugh and his elderly friend ; and to weave 
romances round them ; the former probably had a wife ; 
the latter was certainly a kind, selfish old bachelor ; 


176 QUIET INTERIOR 

entertaining herself thus she passed another half-hour 
and found that it was time to return to tea. It was not 
till she found herself alone with her mother in the back- 
drawing-room with that meal cleared away that it occurred 
to her to apply Hugh’s monitor’s advice to her own case ; 
to present her problem to her subconscious self, and 
placidly await the result. 

Shall we go to the theatre to-night ? ” she asked 
suddenly. Her mother acquiesced mildly. Finding 
Tom Norris in the library Claire asked him if he would 
go too ; she knew he liked family parties. 

Whose idea is this ? Hilary’s ? ” he asked, gazing at 
her with his wide blue eyes over his glasses. 

No, mine. Hilary and Pauline have gone to see 
Hester Griegson.” 

Well, yes, I am quite willing. You’d better telephone 
for tickets. But none of these dismal plays, Claddie. 
Something bright. / go to the theatre to be amused.” 

'' Yes, I know, father. Of course there may be an air- 
raid,” his daughter replied with unintentional irony. 

Claire woke the next morning with the sensation that 
something had happened. She lay wondering what it 
was ; when she rose her own part in her recent encounter 
with Clement was as clear and explicable as his. It was 
a relief to be no more an enigma to herself ; but the relief 
was short-lived ; it went down before the ensuing rush 
of bitter revolt and regret like flax before a gale. She 
spent the morning in tormented solitude. 

The Benjamins and Henrietta Lincoln arrived an hour 
before tea. The three sisters received them in the big 
drawing-room ; Mr. and Mrs. Norris were both absent, 
as was often the case on Sunday afternoons. Claire 
performed the introductions, and some one remarked 
that it was a lovely day. 

“ A pukka spring day,” said Hilary. One of Henrietta's 
eyelids flickered in Claire’s direction. “ But not hot 
enough for punkahs,” she answered. “ I say, Claire, 
that’s a new dress.” 


EMOTION IN RETROSPECT 177 

Isn’t it a delightful garment,” Hilary exclaimed. 

Don’t you think, Miss Lincoln, that Claddie’s Quaker 
style in dress is clever ? It’s very rare for people to 
recognise their own type and carry it out. Most girls 
who resembled little Jane Eyre would wear pink ribbons 
and Valenciennes lace instead of severe grey.” 

‘‘ You’re on the wrong track, evidently,” Henrietta 
said to Claire. “ You ought to be a nursery 
governess.” 

“ Oh no,” said Hilary, open-eyed, ‘*that wasn’t what I 
meant. But Claddie’s personality suggests — perhaps it’s 
more the author of Jane Eyre — a sort of urban Bronte.” 
She glanced complacently round, and realised that 
Pauline and the Benjamins were not listening, having 
moved across to the piano. 

Pauline and Vera, taller than the rest and much of a 
height, were bent together over some music, contrasted 
like girls in a Victorian Christmas supplement, blonde and 
brunette. The former wore a pleated skirt and a delicate 
white blouse ; the latter a jerkin of reddish hand- woven 
material, embroidered in the Russian fashion. 

“ Sing ' I went into the Garden in my Green Hat,’ ” 
Henrietta begged, and Leonard seating himself broke 
immediately into the accompaniment. He had, however, 
to cease and begin again with the singer. Afterwards 
he began to question Pauline about her Moon-Maiden 
dress. 

“ I went with Pauly to her first fitting,” Hilary told 
him. ” It’s going to be just right, I think — just Pauly’s 
style.” 

” It’s more important that it should be the Moon- 
Maiden’s style,” Leonard remarked softly. 

“You see, you’re not a nursery governess,” said 
Henrietta to the youngest of the Norrises. 

- “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ She’s only being silly,” Claire explained. “ Hilary 
said I was like Jane Eyre.” 

“ Oh, what am I like, Hilary ? ” Pauline asked. Hilary 


m 


178 QUIET INTERIOR 

silently gathered herself together in preparation for her 
mot, “ You’re — you’re very modern, and yet you’re 
Georgian, or Romney. I think a twentieth-century 
Romney describes you best.” 

There was a pause — perhaps of admiration — after this 
pronouncement ; finally music was resumed. 

After tea, Claire and Henrietta escaped upstairs, 
followed by Matthew. 

” Elle est assommante, ta soeur,” Henrietta murmured, 
” elle a I’oeil fixe. Her stare mesmerises one and 
galvanises one at the same time : I don’t like it. I feel 
hke a fascinated rabbit which can’t help twitting the 
snake.” 

” There’s something rather impressive about her, 
though, don’t you think ? ” Claire protested loyally. 

” S^he’s a fine figure of a woman if that’s what you 
mean . . . I’m sorry, Claire, if I’m being nasty. She 
makes me feel perverse.” 

” It’s not only her appearance I mean. She seems to 
have rather a grasp of things.” 

” Doubtless there’s a fine view from the Albert Memorial, 
but I’d rather not live with it, all the same.” 

” Oh, I don’t know, Henrietta ; I like to go up and get 
views, and so do you. And if you had to live with the 
A.M. you’d make the best of it.” 

” Of course, and I’d teach it eye-exercises. One has 
water-softener, why not eye-softener ? Talking of carry- 
ing out one’s style, she oughtn’t to wear green. It’s a 
dreadful mistake that people who have red or auburn 
hair always make ; and she hasn’t even that excuse. If 
she wants to dress to her personality, it ought to be 
primary colours, red or blue, or if green, only mixed with 
other things in a pattern ; one of those horrible chintzes 
of bright carmine peonies and green leaves would suit 
her . . . Well ? ” 

They had entered Claire’s room, and Henrietta sat in 
the chair she had occupied on the night before Clement’s 
leave. Her companion closed the door gently and stood 


EMOTION IN RETROSPECT 179 

for a few moments looking past her out of the window, 
under which Matthew lay down. 

“ Have you heard from Clement since he left ? ” 
Henrietta asked. 

The other shook her head, still not speaking. She felt 
in her heart a strange conflict beginning ; a conflict 
between her revolt against pain and a deathlike resigna- 
tion which had begun to creep over her. She stood, 
contemplating it. Then she moved and sat down. 

“ No, I haven’t heard. He didn’t leave England on 
Monday — he only went back to camp. I expect he’s 
been fearfully busy.” 

Henrietta nodded seriously ; presently, having ex- 
amined her friend’s face, where strain was visible, she 
said : “Tell me what happened.” 

“ Perhaps I think more happened than really did. It 

was on Sunday night ” Claire broke off, and began 

again. “ After supper on Sunday, Clement went across 
to the farm. I don’t know why, but I felt absolutely 
miserable — ‘ left.’ I’d have given anything to have you 
or Pauline or mother there. I cried — wasn’t it idiotic ? 
When he came back I went into the sitting-room and 
we talked quite ordinarily. Then suddenly — I don’t 
remember what I’d said — his face quite altered. It was 
extraordinary. I don’t think I could have imagined it ; 
in fact I know I didn’t.” 

“ How was it ? ” 

“ Burning and bright, and yet sort of blurred — like a 
light through a veil. I know what it was. I knew 
then, really.” 

Henrietta, whose eyes did not quit Claire’s face through- 
out the latter’s narrative, asked : “ What did you do ? ” 

Claire answered with an awful, a gentle lucidity : “ I 
did nothing. That was just it ; it was for me to take it 
or leave it, and I left it.” 

They sat for a time in silence, Claire’s eyes fixed on the 
floor as she rehearsed the scene in imagination ; Henrietta, 
wondering and pondering, puzzled but patient. At last 


i8o QUIET INTERIOR 

the latter said : “ Wasn’t that what you wanted, 

then ? ” 

Claire turned on her eyes, dark with intense feeling, and 
hesitated. “ No,” she said, and, with an effort, went on : 
'' It wasn’t that he was looking at me — I might have been 
anyone, I felt he didn’t see the real me at all. He had 
almost a look of being absorbed in himself.” 

'' As if you were a projection of his mind ? ” Henrietta 
suggested softly. 

Perhaps like that ; yet his face was bright. It wasn’t 
the way he looked at Pauline — it wasn’t the right way.” 

“ Are you sure ? Perhaps it was the right way, only 
you’d never seen it before.” 

'' But I knew what it meant,” Claire persisted slowly. 

I knew then — after the first moment when I thought 

he’d spotted that I — ^that I Yes, I realised that it 

was what men feel : desire, or whatever you choose to 
call it. What I didn't know was, whether I could answer 
it or not ; and then, suddenly, I did know.” 

That it wasn’t what you wanted ? ” 

That it wasn’t the right look, the right feeling. It 
was only, I suppose, because I was a girl, and that we 
were alone there — oh, I can’t say what caused it.” 

After a silence Henrietta said : You said just now, 

Claire, what men feel. But you know, women feel it too.” 

Claire rose and stood before her, quest ioningly. Do 
you mean,” she presently asked, that I — ought to have ; 
that I am cold — ^that you think I don’t love him because 
I let that pass ? ” 

“ O God no ! I know you love him. I didn’t mean 
that. But I thought perhaps you didn’t love him quite 
that way yet ; as you’ve not come across it.” 

'‘You may be right,” Claire answered slowly, “ but I 
don’t think so. I feel sure in my own mind that, if he’d 
loved me first, just only for a few moments first, it would 
have been all right. I could have responded to anything 
then ; yes to anything. I’d do everything he wanted 
if he loved me a little first. But without that — seeing 


EMOTION IN RETROSPECT i8i 

that other feeling, all by itself — I couldn’t. He can love, 
you see. I think he does love Pauline.” She turned 
away on these words, and going to the window, leaned 
her arms on the cross-bar, and her face on her arms. 
Looking up presently with soundless tears running down 
her face, she saw a servant looking at her curiously from 
a window opposite, and with a shock of distaste at 
having been watched she instantly left the window, and 
returned to her chair. Her thoughts had passed to the 
final parting on Monday at the station, her intolerable 
sensation of being alive only in her capacity for pain ; 
her constricted throat and aching mouth ; her heart a 
core of misery ; all her strength occupied in keeping 
back tears. The trucks and people, Clement and the 
train, had appeared as blurred and wavering bodies ; 
she had dropped behind the young man, wiped her eyes, 
and, with an effort which stretched the muscles of her 
forehead and temples, smiled ; it was an easier expression 
to preserve than a neutral one, but to an onlooker it had 
seemed almost a grimace. 

She suddenly came back to the present, to Henrietta 
and her room. I saw him oh,” she said. “ He told me 
how good every one had been to him — my family and our 
friends. He talked about whether he’d been justified in 
taking a commission ; and about Matthew. He said a 
chow was much more like me than a bulldog — thinking 
of Thomas, of course. Then the train started. He leant 
out all the time, till it was out of sight. I felt as though 
the train was dragging my inside out and away with it ; 
as if nothing was left of me but a sort of lifeless shell.” 

She stopped, staring before her, while the tears coursed 
down. Then, dropping on her knees beside Henrietta, 
she hid her face in her friend’s lap and sobbed in absolute 
abandonment of grief. Henrietta, without speaking, put 
her hands on the convulsed shoulders ; and they stayed 
thus for a long time. 


CHAPTER XIV 
A Woman of the World 

Claire had for the fourth time re-read Clement’s post card 
announcing his arrival in France when Hilary entered the 
library. 

“ I’ve just seen father off in the car,” she announced. 

I thought I’d see what you were up to. Can I help ? ” 

“ No,” Claire answered. '' I mean. I’ve only got to go 
through these receipts. I’ll come up and do them in the 
larder.” She put out the gas-fire and led the way into the 
back drawing-room. 

It was a wet morning — ^that immediately followed on 
the musical Sunday. Pauline was at the Benjamins’ 
rehearsing ; Mrs. Norris was holding a vaguely be- 
nevolent committee meeting in the dining-room. 

Hilary disposed herself briskly in a chair with its back 
to the light. Claire placed a basket at her own feet and 
began to sort the bundle of papers, tearing up some, and 
placing others aside : she appeared to be giving her whole 
attention to this business, but in reality she was thinking 
all the while of Clement, and using only a small portion 
of her brain to notice the dates on the receipts, and to 
dispose of them accordingly. 

After some moments’ silent contemplation of her sister, 
Hilary stretched out a hand, and took from the table a 
large green silk work-bag from which she drew a linen and 
lace undergarment. She began to sew rapidly and easily, 
cutting her threads with fine gilt -handled scissors, and 
threading her tiny needle with a brief unhesitating gesture. 

I am going to Aunt Connie’s for a week on the seven- 
teenth,” she presently remarked, ” and I’ve been trying to 
182 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 183 

persuade Pauline to come too. Aunt Connie herself 
suggested that one of you should come.” 

Oh,” said Claire, a little taken aback, this is the first 
Tve heard of it.” 

** Well, I knew you were very much taken up with 
father.” 

** Not so much as all that ! However, I can easily go 
and stay with her any time. Is Pauline going with 
you ?” 

“ She hasn’t made up her mind yet,” Hilary replied, 
letting her hands containing the work sink to her knees, 
and fixing her wide-open eyes on her sister. “ She seems 
to think that she ought to stay in town because of this 
play ; but I don’t see that there’s such a hurry about it ; 
they can do it at any time.” 

They’ve just arranged to do it on July ist, which is 
Mrs. Benjamin’s birthday. She always has a garden party 
on that day — they have a house in Regent’s Park, and 
everyone agreed that it would be a good idea to combine 
them. There’s going to be a collection for the Serbian 
Red Cross.” 

** Well, it’s only the third week in April now. That 
gives them two and a half months to rehearse. And 
really, Claddie, I do wish Pauline wasn’t mixed up with 
these Jews.” She spoke in her usual strong, rather 
insistent tone, without irritation. 

” Oh . . . Why ? ” 

Well, after all, money isn’t ever5d:hing.” 

Claire was astounded ; such naiveness was scarcely 
credible. She gave her sister one swift look of surprise, 
and then went on with her sorting. 

” And for a girl of Pauline’s calibre to be going about 
with a grubby little pacifist ! . . . She’s ten times too 
good for long-haired cranks.” 

Claire searched for an answer among the indignant 
words which crowded her tongue. 

“ I don’t think,” she finally said, ” that you can dismiss 
Leonard and Vera as grubby little cranks. The Benj amins 


i 84 quiet interior 

are a very cultivated, artistic family ; Leonard is a fine 
musician. He’s done Pauline no end of good.” 

” Oh, I dare say he’s got the taste, and can play the 
piano — I don’t deny that. I don’t think you see my 
point, Claddie. After all, Pauline isn’t going to make a 
profession of music ; if she was, Leonard Benjamin might 
be very useful ” 

“ It isn’t a question of use,” Claire interrupted with 
unusual warmth, a very faint flush tingeing her cheeks, 
” it’s a question of who Pauline chooses to be friends 
with.” 

” But you yourself said he’d done her no end of good,” 
Hilary pointed out with the air of a logician. 

” Yes, incidentally he has. He’s helped to develop 
her — her critical faculty, I suppose you’d call it ; he’s 
made her think ; he’s a clever man. I admit he looks 
grubby ; but one can’t have everything.” 

I’d rather have him clean and less of a musician,” 
said Hilary calmly. 

Claire respected the candour of this admission, and 
answered, ” Yes, but I suppose Pauline wouldn’t.” 

” I must say that strikes me as extraordinary, in a girl 
of Pauline’s stamp. Of course, it’s mere chance that’s 
brought her and them together ; it’s only sheer uncon- 
sciousness of her own type which lets her consort with 
them. She’s got looks and intelligence and breeding, 
and here she is wasting her time with ” 

” Yes, I know ; but don’t say any more about Leonard’s 
political opinions, because you see I share them, and so do 
the Lincolns.” 

It was Hilary’s turn to be astounded ; she frankly 
stared. ” Claddie ! Of course, I’m rather a Socialist 
myself ; but if you’re talking about the war, you’ll admit 
that Labour is soundly patriotic ; it’s only a few absolute 
cranks who are ” 

” Oh, Hilary, do you mind not ? ... I do loathe argu- 
ments. I’d rather you went on about Pauline.” 

” Well, if you won’t defend your opinions ! What I 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 185 

really meant to ask you was, whether you hadn’t had 
a lot to do with Pauline taking up with this set ? ” 

“ Perhaps I had. When she joined the Stokes’s 
orchestra we got to know the Benjamins ; and then we 
started having them here regularly. I don’t think that 
was any more my doing than hers. What I did do was to 
encourage her to sing and play and practice. And after 
all, Hilary, when you talk about ‘ this set,’ what do you 
mean ? Do you object to the Stokeses, and Hester, too ?” 

“ Not at all. They seem to me negligible. What I’m 
thinking about is Pauly’s future. I know you don’t set 
up to be a woman of the world, Claddie, but it must have 
occurred to you that Pauly has got to settle down some 
time.” 

” Some time in the next ten years.” 

” Thirty may not be too late for people of your 
mentality,” Hilary replied with her manner of enunciating 
incontrovertible truths, at which her sister smiled un- 
noticed into her lap. ” But it’s obvious that Pauline 
needs an assured position — a background. And with her 
personality and looks she could have it for a nod of the 
head. Now, I haven’t discussed the question with her ; 
but of course she must have had at least one chance of 
marrying — I mean besides that Stokes boy ; and I can make 
a guess at the man.” Her tone was a trifle triumphant. 

Claire’s thoughts immediately flew to Ivor Webb ; but, 
as far as she knew, he had not been mentioned in Hilary’s 
presence. She kept silent, and Miss Monk-Norris went 
on : ” From what I know of Major Elliot, I think it was 

a great pity she didn’t encourage him.” 

” Unfortunately for him, she didn’t care for him,” 
Claire answered, ignoring this, the second, imputation of 
her responsibility which she discerned in Hilary’s tone. 

” But my dear Claddie, anyone who’s had the experi- 
ence of people that I have, and the opportunity of 
observing them, can see that Pauline is extremely adapt- 
able.” She paused, and her companion, who had 
finished her task, rose and said quickly : 


i86 QUIET INTERIOR 

I suppose you mean that some one ought to have 
influenced Pauline to make her adapt herself to Major 
Elliot/^ 

“ He has a very good position, and means ; he's 
thoroughly suitable." 

" But as you said just now," Claire, still standing, 
answered sharply, " after all, money isn’t everything." 

" I don’t suppose you’ll deny," Hilary remarked calmly, 
ceasing to sew, and fixing her eyes on her sister, " that 
Major Elliot is a nice man — suitable in every way ? 
Have you anyone better up your sleeve ? ’’ 

Claire remained motionless, her wrath transforming 
itself into puzzled speculation. What species of woman 
was this, at once so close and famihar, so alien and incom- 
prehensible ? "No," she at last brought out, but 

then, you see, I don’t make it my object in life to marry 
Pauline off. She’s very young. I think it would be an 
awful pity if she was only taken up with men and getting 
married. You think she’s too good for the Benjamins; 
I dare say she is. I think she’s too good to marry for 
position. She can be a social success as well as other 
things. She’s intelligent enough to be lots of things." 

"Yes, yes, I agree. Once her position is assured, her 
music and so on will be a wonderful asset." 

" What’s wrong with her position now ? ’’ 

"You don’t understand what I’m driving at, Claddie. 
Sit down, and I’ll try to make it clear." 

Unwillingly, feeling hke a lectured child, Claire re- 
seated herself. Her inclination was to go straight from 
the room ; but her desire to be fair, not to misjudge, as 
well as her curiosity, caused her to obey. 

" I want everybody to be themselves," Hilary announced 
with the air of an oracle, and resuming her sewing. " The 
great thing in life, it seems to me, is to recognise one’s own 
bent, one’s own type and personality, and to shape one’s 
destiny accordingly. Now Pauline, as perhaps you 
have realised, is, so to speak, a Queen of Love. She 
might be a reincarnation of a Provengal lady, or a Georgian 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 187 

beauty. She must have, to be in her right milieu, a lord> 
a castle and admirers. I don’t mean anything question- 
able, of course. She must have an assured position in 
good society ; and on this foundation she can do as 
much decoration as she likes, as long, of course, as she 
doesn’t go in so seriously for something that spoils the 
picture.” 

” I see,” said Claire truthfully. 

” Now you,” Hilary went on, ” are a totally different 
type. As I said yesterday, you’re an urban Bronte. 
Marriage is not essential for your background.” 

” Am I fated to do good works ? ” Claire asked, as one 
asks a fortune-teller, with dissembled irony. 

” Ah ! I shall have to study you a little more before I 
can say.” 

” And what about you ? ” 

Hilary gave a short, self-conscious laugh and answered : 
” I’m rather afraid I’m destined to be a guide, philosopher 
and friend to other persons of both sexes. At least, that’s 
been my job so far ; and after all, if one’s useful, one 
mustn’t complain. That reminds me ; I heard this 
morning from a charming Belgian boy, whose family I 
met before the war. I spent part of the summer of 1914 
with them. He’s a poet, and is now working in London. 
He wants to call here.” 

” How interesting. What’s his name ? ” her sister 
asked with relief at the change of topic. 

” Felix Gregoire.” 

” Let’s have him to dinner one night this week,” Claire 
suggested. 

” Yes. He gave me these scissors, because of a joke we 
had about my being one of the Parques — ‘ Weavers of 
Destiny,’ you know,” Hilary translated ; ” in fact he 
dedicated a poem called ‘Tisseuse des Sorts’ to me. 
He got wounded in the arm last year, and his mother 
tells me he will never be able to bend his left arm.” 

Claire had a slightly stunned sensation ; she found her 
sister’s voice, though coloured and varied, a little too 


i88 QUIET INTERIOR 

insistent. '' I think I hear mother,” she said, rising and 
making a move towards silence and exclusion. 

'‘Yes,” Hilary agreed, “ I hear sounds of her and her 
cronies issuing forth.” 

The dinner was arranged for Thursday — ^the night 
before Hilary and Pauline departed on their visit to their 
aunt, Mrs. Agnew. Pauline was going for a long week-end 
only. 

It happened that Bill Osier was on leave. Claire going 
to see the Lincolns on the Tuesday evening found him 
there, and invited him and Henrietta to the proposed 
dinner-party. Henrietta preferred to cleave to a long- 
standing engagement she had with Lucy to hear Rosing 
sing ; but Bill accepted Claire’s invitation. He moreover 
gave her news of Clement, whom he had met by arrange- 
ment at Ypres one day recently. 

“ He was in rather a stew about a pal of his who had 
been badly hit the very first time they went over the top,” 
Bill told her. “ A chap called Margesson.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” said Claire. “Yes, I know. Clement 
made great friends with him when they were in camp. 
Has he come over to England ? ” 

“ No, he’s too bad, poor chap. Parsons seemed to think 
he was going to die.” 

“ Oh, poor Clement ! ” said Henrietta. 

Lucy made no sound but pulled at his pipe ; lying 
almost prone in a deep chair, his legs, it seemed to Claire, 
stretched half across the room. 

Returning home, Claire found a letter from Clement, 
containing the same information. His spirits were low ; 
he had obviously become still more attached to Margesson 
since they had together gone into the first line, and taken 
part in battle. Claire wrote to him as best she could, 
taking comfort from his ability still to confide in her, to 
write to her as a friend. 

The other guest on Thursday, besides Bill Osier and 
Felix Gregoire, was an elderly young Conservative who 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 189 

was nursing a Midland constituency, and for whom 
Tom Norris had once or twice spoken at meetings. 
Hilary began immediately and with great success to 
draw him out, while her sisters jested amicably with the 
less solemn pair. 

The young Belgian poet was indeed much less solemn 
than Claire had expected. He talked in French, with a 
humour one guessed at rather than saw or heard, about 
his reception in England. Claire asked him if he minded 
being addressed in English, adding that probably their 
French would pain him extremely. He replied that it 
was his duty to hear and to learn English, but that he 
could not resist talking French to those who understood 
it, and that he often yearned to hear his own language. 

If you will come and see us again soon, monsieur,” 
Claire said, “ I will ask a great friend of mine to meet 
you who is half French, and speaks perfectly.” 

''Are you telling Felix of Henrietta Lincoln?” Hilary 
interposed, and then addressing the young Belgian, " Miss 
Lincoln est tout ce qu’il y a de plus moderne, vous savez. 
Elle n’est pas Fran^aise, pas le moins du monde ; c’est 
une type absolument anglais.” She spoke fluently, 
but with a markedly English accent, which made Claire 
blush for her a little, secretly, and then reprimand herself. 
Her impression was that Hilary liked showing off her 
French ; and her own opinion was that those who talked 
French with an English accent ought to talk it as rarely 
as possible. 

M. Gregoire expressed a keen desire to meet the young 
lady in question, not only by reason of her extraction, 
but also of her modernity. His manner was very suave 
as he said this, turned half towards the eldest of the three 
sisters ; and his extreme seriousness struck Claire as not 
perfectly genuine — as the mock sincerity which a grown 
person employs to a solemn child. This impression was 
faint and fleeting ; it returned, however, once or twice in 
the course of the evening when he addressed Miss Monk- 
Norris. 


igo QUIET INTERIOR 

“ Hilary tells me you write,” Claire said tentatively, 
when they were in the drawing-room. He replied that 
this was so. 

'' Prose as well as poetry ? ” 

“ Non, mademoiselle, seulement de la poesie. Et ce 
travail m’enivre ; c’est comme un vice secret. Le 
po^te, c’est un fumeur d’ opium : lorsque le monde 
I’ennuie, il s’echappe dans le pays tendre des rimes. 
N’est-ce pas, quand vous lisez des'vers, vous sentez que le 
poete habite un autre monde que celui-ci — qu’il m^ne une 
autre vie, dont il veut vous faire gouter les delices ? ” 

‘"Yes,” Claire answered, hesitatingly, think I 
know what you mean. ... You certainly must meet 
Henrietta, she feels exactly like that. She will under- 
stand you perfectly.” 

O mais! j’espere que non! Je n’aime pas qu’on 
me comprenne trop bien,” the young man exclaimed 
with a smile. '' C’est pour ga que nous sommes de si bons 
amis, votre soeur et moi.” 

Hilary once more turned and interrupted him to ask 
what he was saying of her. 

'' Je dis que nous sommes lies, vous et moi, mademois- 
elle, parceque vous ne me comprenez qu’a moitie, 
que cela vous intrigue, et que j’en suis flatte.” 

Hilary did, in effect, look a trifle puzzled, in her own 
way ; that is to say, she merely opened her eyes in- 
finitesimally wider. Her friend, however, gave her no 
time to pursue the subject, for, begging Claire to pardon 
his egoism, he began to ask her about herself. She 
answered with her customary reserve, and then, with a 
graceful transition, he turned all his attention to his 
hostess. 

Before he took his leave, however, Claire was able to 
ask him whether he was too busy to come again soon. 
He replied in English : ''I am busy with my work, yes ; 
but with my distractions, no. I have very few friends 
in London.” 

“ Then perhaps you would care to come to tea on 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD igi 

Sunday ? I think I can get Miss Lincoln to come. 
You know Hilary will be away,” 

He nevertheless accepted with pleasure. 

Do you care for music ? Every alternate Sunday 
some of our friends come and play, and Pauline sings. 
But this Sunday is not one of those.” 

Franchement, je n’aime pas du tout la musique. 
Les arts sont soeurs ? Oui ; mais on est rarement 
amoureux d’une famille en masse. Et a risque de 
paraitre impoli envers mademoiselle Pauline, je dois 
avouer que les chansons surtout m’irritent ; je supporte mal 
qu’on se sert ainsi des vers divins de Verlaine ou de Heine 
qui ont eux-memes une musique exquise et delicate.” 

In the account which Claire subsequently gave Henri- 
etta of that evening she purposely did not emphasise 
her impressions of Felix Gregoire ; she wished her friend 
to judge him with an unprejudiced mind. Claire could 
not resist, however, in view of the fact that Hilary 
would not be present on Sunday, saying that, despite 
her elder sister’s suggestion that the young Belgian 
depended on her for guidance, in her, Claire’s, opinion 
the poet had complete control of their relations. “ I 
think he takes Hilary with a grain of salt,” she said. 

Does he chaff her ? ” 

''Not exactly. He has a way of not smiling and 
not joking, and yet making you suspect that he is smiling 
inside. You’ll see. Without that, he’d be rather 
pompous ; but you feel that he’s laughing at his own 
seriousness too.” She went on to describe her con- 
versation with Hilary concerning Pauline. " I meant 
to tell you on Tuesday, when it was fresh in my mind, 
but of course I couldn’t as Bill and Lucy were there. 
She has a wonderful way of talking — fearfully grown-up ; 
not only her manner but her words, too.” 

"Yes, I noticed she had a flow of language. She has 
rather a good vocabulary.” 

" I think she’s too old for her age in lots of ways. I 
didn’t feel able to stick up to her — ^to 


192 QUIET INTERIOR 

‘'To cope with her ? ” Henrietta supplied the word. 

“Yes, that’s it. There seemed to be such a lot of 
sense in what she said about Pauline, and yet, somehow, 
it left out such a lot. You can’t really act on theories 
like that, can you ? ” 

“ I suppose Hilary can. You say she called herself 
a woman of the world. I should think that’s just about 
it : she is worldly. And / think the way she stares 
ill-bred.’’ 

Claire pondered a few moments in silence, and presently 
said : “ Altogether she puzzles me. She has this way of 
talking and being fearfully all there and knowing about 
things ; and yet I don’t believe she’s clever. Last night 
Monsieur Gregoire said that the reason he and she were 
such good friends was that Hilary only half understood 
him, and so he mystified her, and that flattered him.” 
Henrietta looked amused, and Claire went on : “ And I 
felt sure then he was quite right ; but I thought Hilary 
looked as though the idea hadn’t occurred to her before.” 

“ I think,” said Henrietta, “ that there are hundreds 
of things that don’t occur to her — ^that puzzle her — ^that 
she misses and doesn’t notice. I think she’s dense. 
Being worldly gives her blind spots about people and 
things. She won’t be good for Pauline.” 

“ No,” Claire agreed softly. 

“ You’ll have to put up a fight,” Henrietta admonished 
her. 

“ You know I shan’t do that. I’m not going to 
struggle with Hilary over Pauline’s body ” 

“ Prostrate body.” : 

Claire, accustomed to her friend’s interjections, paid 
no attention to this, and continued : “If Pauline likes 
being with her better than with me, I can’t do an5fl:hing. 
Besides, it may be only my imagination. There’s no 
earthly reason really why she shouldn’t go to stay with 
Aunt Connie, too.” 

“ Was Pauline apologetic about crying off the concert 
to-day ? ” 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 


193 

** Yes, she was. It made me feel nasty — she was too 
apologetic.” 

They considered this in silence. Then Claire asked if 
Lucy would come on Sunday ; she had not seen him 
properly for weeks. 

“ He’s overworking. Ill try and bring him ; he may 
come if he knows you’re the only one at home. You’re 
sure you want Bill ? ” 

** Of course.” 

You haven’t heard any more about Clement’s 
friend ? ” 

Claire shook her head, and sat staring out at the 
houses opposite. The thoughts of Clement, as always, 
implied peace, the country and — at this time of year — 
the exquisite spring ; the heavenly approach of summer 
— a group of visions opposed in almost everything 
essential, and in almost every detail to her present 
existence, in which Hilary and Pauline and sisterly strife 
played so large a part. The latter existence constituted, 
now, a prison ; the former stood for escape. Only, the 
prison gate was closely barred. Once she had slipped 
outside, had stood in pure air among the flowering 
trees ; but she had gone back, some would say of 
her own free will, into the prison-house. Her regret 
was none the less poignant because the prompting she 
had obeyed came from the recesses of her own being, her 
longing for freedom and peace no less persistent and 
strong. The plane trees beyond her own window in 
Westminster made, when the wind blew, a gesture of 
greeting and summons as though from a place — not 
distant, but inaccessible, of repose and energy, of silence 
and music, of heavenly content. They reminded her of 
the first evening with Clement at Sparrows — how she 
had asked for nothing, having so much. 

I mustn’t forget,” she said, “ that I know what 
happiness is : it will be hard to remember,” 


CHAPTER XV 
Henrietta and Bill 

Claire spent Sunday morning alone, except for Matthew 
in the back drawing-room. Her father, as well as her 
sisters, was absent from London, and Mrs. Norris had 
gone to church. The house was silent ; so was the street. 
The church bells had ceased, and the traffic of West- 
minster was stilled. 

She sat idle with a closed book, dreaming and thinking. 
There was nothing she needed, nothing she wished to 
do ; nowhere she wished to go. After her bitter revolt 
against pain, and her remorse at her own lack of action 
towards Clement, a deathlike resignation had settled 
down on her. In the midst of her remorse she had 
known, obscurely, that her inaction, though fatal for her, 
had been right : that it corresponded to some profound 
principle within herself ; this had been a painful con- 
solation. But in the numb mood which followed, 
consolation was as absent as remorse. She found in 
herself no warmth, only a wintry chill of finality and 
loss. She had a sensation of entombment, and had 
neither wish nor strength to resist the process ; it was 
as though she had gone down. Undine-like, into the pool 
of her inner life, and that the surface was freezing slowly 
above her head. 

She stirred in her chair, and was surprised to see, out 
of the window, the house across the court touched with 
sunlight. It was mid-April. She tried the information 
on herself, and found no response. Her only active wish, 
and even this was faint, was for the day to pass, for 

*94 


HENRIETTA AND BILL 195 

Monday to come with the normal posts, which might 
bring a letter from Clement. 

She glanced up at the mantelpiece, where Aunt Connie's 
photograph stood. The resemblance to Hilary was 
remarkable, in spite of the disparity of their ages, and 
the difference in their modes of hairdressing. Mrs. 
Agnew wore a sparse curled fringe on her broad, square 
forehead, whereas Hilary’s hair sprang in a strong curve 
from a parting low on one side ; but the eyes of the 
photograph, from whose borders all wrinkles had been 
tactfully removed by the photographer, were the eyes of 
Hilary Monk-Norris ; the firm, high carriage of the 
head, the firm, rounded outline of the face, the whole 
unequivocal, self-confident expression, were the same. 

Claire respected and even rather liked her aunt, who 
had been a girl of determination, an athlete when girl 
athletes were rare, a keen bloomer-bicyclist. She was 
still a great golfer ; but marriage had modified her tastes, 
and to run her house efficiently had become an ambition 
quickly realised. By middle-age she was famous among 
her friends, relations, neighbours and acquaintances as 
a housewife, a maker of jam, and the possessor of super- 
latively fine embroidered bed-linen which branded the 
cheeks of those unwary enough to sleep with the mono- 
gram uppermost. Claire agreed with Henrietta’s remark 
— made after her sole encounter with Mrs. Agnew — that 
it was a good thing for Aunt Connie’s children that Aunt 
Connie hadn’t got any. Her sense of duty would have 
forced her to put her offspring first, but they would 
somehow subsequently have been made to suffer for 
their usurpation of the place which her house occupied 
in her affections. 

Claire wondered what Hilary would be like with her 
children ; for she would certainly marry ; anyone who 
valued marriage and an assured position so highly on 
behalf of a sister would not ignore its advantage for 
herself. And, Claire selfishly added, the sooner the 
better, She did not disguise from herself that Hilary 


196 QUIET INTERIOR 

irked her ; her personality jarred ; she was, besides, a 
little hostile to Claire herself, and the fact that this 
hostility was unconscious — that, if accused of it, Hilary 
would be blankly surprised if not incredulous — far from 
mitigating the effect, aggravated it ; it was yet another 
sign of obtuseness. It has been shown that Claire was 
no more tolerant of other young creatures than of her 
elders and contemporaries, and it annoyed her that a 
person making such a show of culture, education, worldly 
wisdom and intelligence as did Hilary, should be ignorant 
of and apparently incurious concerning her own senti- 
ments and characteristics. She did not connect it with 
a quality in her sister which might have surprised, or 
even provoked, admiration in a mellower critic : the 
quality of unself-consciousness, the lack of egotism. 
Hilary was complacent, perhaps conceited, probably 
selfish ; she had evidently no doubts as to her own 
excellence, but she was not an egotist ; she did not lead 
conversations round to herself ; when she blew her own 
trumpet it was briefly done. She was not only ignorant 
of herself, she was not especially interested. This had 
not struck Claire ; she found, indeed, nothing so definite 
— psychologically speaking — in her elder sister’s favour. 
In fact, she disliked her. A hundred little things had 
contributed to her dislike ; the jar of inharmonious 
personalities already referred to, Hilary’s patronage of 
Henrietta, her snobbishness concerning the Benjamins, 
her desire to stage-manage Pauline’s existence, and, no 
less important, though apparently so superficial, the 
absence in her of half-tones and shadows ; a hardness, 
a tightness or density in her composition and manner, 
which Claire felt acutely but could not accurately define. 
She perceived this quality as a consistency, a surface ; 
it evoked an image of some bright, glazed pottery, gay 
but wearisome, and, in some moods of the possessor, in 
some lights, in some juxtapositions, crude, even repellent. 
As she contemplated this image, Hilary’s insistent tones 
came back to her^ unflagging like her good humour; 


HENRIETTA AND BILL igy 

and, remembering Mrs. Agnevv’s brusqueness, she almost 
wished she had gone instead of Pauline, so as to witness 
the meeting of aunt and niece ; which pot would chip 
the other ? 

Her reverie was interrupted by Mrs. Norris’s return 
from church. She wandered into the room in her large 
feathered hat and fur stole. “ It’s a lovely day, darling,'" 
she said, “ but you don’t look well. Don’t you need air 
and exercise ? Didn’t you care to go to Aunt Connie’s ? 
It might have done you good." 

“ Well, as a matter of fact, I didn’t know anything 
about it until Hilary and Pauline had fixed up to go." 

“ But Connie wrote more than a week ago, both to 
Hilary and me, saying she could put up two of you. 
Hilary’s letter was enclosed in mine. . . . Oh, I believe 
it came one night when you were out to dinner. Hilary 
said she’d consult you about it." 

“ I don’t think I’d have gone, anyway," Claire answered 
lightly. 

“ But how funny of Hilary ! ’’ Mrs. Norris went on in 
a puzzled voice. 

‘‘ Never mind, mother dear, she must have forgotten." 

This brief conversation left an unpleasant impression 
on Claire’s mind. It was improbable that Hilary could 
have forgotten to mention their aunt’s invitation — 
impartially addressed through her to Claire and Pauline 
— ^while planning with Pauline to accept it. Her refer- 
ence to the matter had been quite open, and her explana- 
tion — that she had assumed Claire’s unwillingness to 
desert her London occupations — was very likely genuine 
and correct ; but nevertheless, the assumption involved, 
favouring her own desire to be accompanied by Pauline, 
by denying Claire the chance of expressing her wish, was 
more than Hilary should have taken upon herself — it 
showed a superfluity of self-confidence. Claire had 
herein just cause for annoyance ; she had, however, 
merely been taken aback. It was her conversation with 
Mrs. Norris and the latter’s surprise at the discovery of 


igS QUIET INTERIOR 

Claire’s negative part which put upon the incident a 
complexion of disingenuousness. Claire refused, how- 
ever, to dwell on this quality ; if meanness there had been, 
it could only demean her to contemplate it. The result 
was that she regarded her adopted sister with a very 
slight feeling of discomfort, too slight to be called dis- 
trust ; and which was not dispelled by Hilary’s con- 
sistent bright openness of manner. Indeed, that manner 
had now taken on for Claire a faintly, and almost imper- 
ceptibly, sinister tinge. During the ensuing week some- 
times she found herself on the verge of dreading Hilary’s 
return. 

The Lincolns and Bill Osier arrived all together soon 
after lunch. They had that morning been to the park, 
and Henrietta was full of the spring clothes she had seen 
on the promenaders. 

'' Oh, why aren’t I one of the smart inteleggers ? ” she 
cried on entering the room. Mrs. Norris, don’t you 
think I should make a first-class Soul ? The young Souls 
do have such sport. They mix pearls and poetry, and 
they appreciate both, so they can’t be quite swine.” 

Most poets don’t care for dress — at least the ones I 
knew when I was a girl didn’t,” Mrs. Norris answered, 
smiling vaguely into her past. But then poetry is the 
fashion now, isn’t it ? ” 

0 Lord, yes ! The Guards fairly reek of it. If only 
my papa were the Prime Minister ! ” 

Mrs. Norris began to hum. 

“Yes, I know,” said Henrietta, “ but the Prince of 
Wales won’t do in that respect now. Prime Ministers’ 
daughters have a far royaller time than princesses. Oh, 
Lucy, why aren’t you the eldest son of an earl ? ” 

“ Calm yourself, what ? ” said Bill. “ Look here, 
Claire, come and dine with us at the Carlton to-morrow 
and pretend to be one of the upper ten, will you ? I 
have to catch the seven o’clock leave train on Tuesday 
morning, and I’m going to make a night of it.” 

“You and Lucy and I are to be the first — or respectable 


HENRIETTA AND BILL 199 

— ^instalment/' Henrietta explained. We ll go to a 
show, press a kiss on Bill’s noble — or is it fevered ? — 
brow, and go home to bed while he continues alone in 
London.” 

“ Exactly,” Bill agreed calmly. “You really are a 
womanly woman after all, Henrietta. Where’s this here 
Belgee, Claire ? ” 

“ He’s coming. I must tell you, he hates music.” 

“ Well, I’ll try and prevent Bill singing ‘ Songs of the 
Hebrides,’ said Henrietta. 

Mrs. Norris now excused herself and left the room. 

Lucy lay in a deep chair staring out of the window. 
Presently he said softly : “ ' O God ! O Montreal ! ’ ” 

“ Is London being worse than usual ? ” Claire asked 
him. 

He turned dazzled eyes on her and answered : “No, 
I like London, you know — if one hadn’t to work so many 
hours, and if one could get away oftener.” 

“ How would you like to live ? ” she questioned with 
sudden curiosity. 

“I’d like to live in the country — ^the real country, 
not less than two hours from London, and where there 
are no Londoners. Preferably on chalk. I should eat 
a lot and go for long walks, and have some one to play 
to me sometimes in the evenings.” 

“ And nice furniture and linen and Georgian silver,” 
his sister added, “ and tip-top wine and good cigars and 
large fires.” 

“ All alone ? ” 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t mind Henrietta,” the young man 
answered with the ghost of a smile. 

“ And — I forgot, ”his sister retorted. “ You’d want 
three different botany books of three volumes each, 
with plates and diagrams and coloured illustrations. 
An encyclopedia, and The Egoist and Hardy’s 
poems ; and then a few Arnold Bennetts for lighter 
moments.” 

“ And you ? ” Claire turned to Bill, 


200 QUIET INTERIOR 

Me ? 0 good Lord, I haven’t thought. I liked my 
life before the war. In fact I like it now. I prefer 
plenty of hot water ” 

“ Oh, so does Lucy. The luxuries go without saying,’' 
Miss Lincoln interrupted. 

“ And an endless supply of clean brushes ” 

“ Paint — or hair ? ” 

“ Paint. And friends in to see me every night — nice 
noisy friends — and — I can’t think of any more.” 

“You lack a sister to fill in the gaps,” said Claire, 
without thinking ; and, the instant she had said it, was 
aware of the significance which, in the silence, her remark 
assumed. What seemed to her a silence was really 
only the briefest of pauses ; almost on top of her words 
the door opened, and M. Gregoire was announced. 

“ Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Osier have just described their 
ideal existences,” she told the new-comer. 

“ I wish that I had heard,” he answered. “ Am I to 
hear yours, mademoiselle ? ” 

“ No ; I couldn’t describe mine ; it’s too vague.” 

“ Everybody knows mine ! ” said Henrietta. “ Dis- 
traction, gaiety, clothes, dances, books, poetry, plays, 
music ; most of all, people.” 

“ La vie mondaine ? ” 

“ Oui, la vie mondaine.” 

“ Pourtant, mademoiselle ne se contenterait pas de 
cela ; a la fin, elle s’ennuierait.” 

“ Mais non. Pourvu que le trou soit rempli.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” Claire asked. 

Henrietta looked for a moment as though she had 
been trapped into an avowal ; she carried it off gaily, 
however. “ There’s an insatiable hole in me for 
pleasure,” she answered. “ You know that, Claire.” 

“ Vous ^tes done une Pierrette ? ” said Felix Gregoire. 
“ Vous avez plutot I’air d’un harlequin transform^ 
en jeune fille.” 

“ She has, rather,” Bill agreed, forgetting to pretend 
that he only understood English. 


201 


HENRIETTA AND BILL 

** Lucy is Pierrot, then,'* said Henrietta, “ melancholy 
Pierrot. Bill, you are the yokel hanging his jaw at the 
show. Claire, I don’t know what you are.” 

” Mademoiselle Claire-de-lune,” the young Belgian 
murmured, but so gently that all impertinence was 
lacking from the title, and he and Henrietta began 
simultaneously to recite ; 

“Votre ame est un paysage choisi 
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques 
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi 
Tristes sous— — ” 

“ Non,” Henrietta interrupted herself and Felix 
Gregoire. “File n’est ni deguisee, nifantasque; jamais 
de la vie.” 

” Toute physionomie est masque,” the young poet 
said, with mock sententiousness, as though quoting ; 
” mais si nous allons vraiment trouver le mot juste 
pour Mademoiselle Norris, c’est — n'est-ce-pas ? — Made- 
moiselle Crepuscule.” 

” Yes ! Yes ! ” cried Henrietta delightedly. ” That’s 
it. When the sky is grey, not blue, and the moon is 
lemon-yellow, not bright and shining. That’s exactly 
like her.” 

” Have you brought any of your poems with you ? ” 
said Claire, becoming a little restive under the continued 
scrutiny of her companions and the extremely personal 
turn of the talk. 

M. Gregoire replied that he had been wanting in courage. 
Claire told him that Miss Lincoln also wrote poems. 

” Not now,” that young lady corrected her. ” I 
haven’t written a line of poetry since ‘ Ring o’ Roses.’ 
I’ve begun a novel now,” she went on, turning to 
M. Gregoire, ” only the characters all dislike each other so 
much that they won’t get on with the action. It is 
called * Having it Both Ways.’ ” 

‘‘ There’s a book called Cake that I came across 
once which had the same theme,” said Bill Osier. 


202 QUIET INTERIOR 

“ Which was * Ring o’ Roses ’ ? ” Claire asked her 
friend. “ I can’t remember it.” 

” The one about the sea-bathers making a ring all 
round England, Scotland and Wales.” 

” Tiens, c’est de I’llnanimisme,” remarked the other 
poet. ” Sans doute vous connaissez Vildrac et 
Duhamel ? ” 

Henrietta replied that she did, and that, while bored 
by the latter, she thought the former equal to Verhaeren. 
The young Belgian tried to draw Claire into the dis- 
cussion, but she had read no French poetry except Les 
Multiples Splendeurs, which Leonard Benjamin had 
lent her. 

” Vous I’aimez ? ” 

She told him yes. 

” Alors, je vais vous preter Les Forces TumuUueuses 
et Les Villes Tentaculaires. Vous verrez que c’est du 
Vildrac, mais plus puissant, plus grand, plus penetrant.” 

” ‘ Et penetrant comme I’echo,’ ” quoted Henrietta. 

The young man went on, still addressing Claire : 
” Alors vous avez le gout de la poesie ? Votre soeur 
ne I’a absolument pas. Cela ne lui dit rien du tout.” 

” Who, Pauline ? That’s quite true,” Claire agreed 
quickly. 

“Non, non. C’est de votre soeur Hilary que je parle.” 

There was a silence. Hilary’s utter indifference to 
poetry seemed to oppress all the inmates of the room ; 
for a few minutes her personality dominated theirs. 
Claire, with her lurking fear of disloyalty, felt uncomfort- 
able ; but the young man’s tone had been perfectly 
kind and uncritical ; he had simply announced a fact 
interesting and curious to him. He presently began to 
discuss life in the trenches with Bill Osier. 

The three others sat mutely listening. To Claire, all 
first-hand information of the war was horribly enthralling 
— anything which counteracted the mass of misrepresenta- 
tion, sentimentality, cant and picturesque detail supplied 
by the newspapers, “ war books,” and current stories. 


HENRIETTA AND BILL 203 

** By Jove, I was scared that time ! ” said Bill. “ I 
used to go out reconnoitring with my batman at night. 
He’d come crawhng along after me, and every now and 
then touch my foot to show he was still there. Of course, 
when the Verey lights went up we froze. One night 
we got up on the edge of a crater, and suddenly a light 
went up and there was a Fritz bang opposite me a few 
yards off ; he was reconnoitring too ! I was scared out 
of my life.” 

Felix Gregoire had also been excessively frightened 
on various occasions ; he and Bill seemed to grudge 
each other the palm for fearfulness. 

“ Really, you two ! ” Henrietta cried at last. You’re 
not being at all what England expects. You disappoint 
me, sure.” At which both the young men grinned with 
gentle amusement at her thin face with its sardonic 
mouth and pale frame of hair. 

Before going out on Monday evening Claire received 
a letter from Clement. In it he told her that Margesson 
had died of his wounds. The letter had been written 
literally on the eve of an expected battle, of which the 
young man spoke almost with exultation. He was 
longing for action of some kind ; his feelings concerning 
his friend’s death needed an outlet. He added, in a 
scrawled postscript, that Margesson had left him all 
his money ; but he made no comment. 

Claire told Bill about Margesson’ s death when she 
met him and the Lincolns at the Carlton. 

” Poor Parsons ! ” said Osier. ” I’m afraid he must 
be fearfully cut up. They seem to be having it hot. 
I’m glad I’m going back.” 

Claire glanced across at Henrietta who, like Beauty in 
Rupert Brooke’s ” Funeral of Youth,” was “ pale in her 
black, dry-eyed.” After drinking a little wine, however, 
her cheeks became flushed and she began to talk in her 
normal way, constructing histories about the other 
diners. Claire made great efforts to respond, but her 


204 QUIET INTERIOR 

anxiety about Clement, seldom dormant, was now 
abnormally active. Already he might be fatally wounded, 
maimed, Winded, or dead. Lucy, whose habit was to 
allow others to make conversational overtures, roused 
himself on this occasion and began to talk to her about 
a revue he had seen, a book he had read, a song he had 
heard soldiers sing as they marched through the streets. 
She was grateful to him for his efforts ; she knew his 
difficulty in talking even to friends with whom he was 
not shy ; the day's work used all his strength and vitality. 
He, too, however, began to respond to the wine ; his 
eyes shone behind their glasses, and every now and then 
he let out a modified guffaw at Bill’s and Henrietta’s 
rival jests. At one point the latter, quoting Claire with 
a smile at her, said : “ Why are we here at all ? ” 

‘‘ Why, indeed ! ” her brother echoed. 

“ Oh, lots of things to do,” said Bill cheerfully ; but, 
in spite of their tones, a wave of seriousness had passed 
over them ; the light died out of the Lincolns’ faces ; 
Lucy, as he put down his glass, made a very slight 
unconscious grimace, and said after a pause : ” There’s 
a damn sight too much to do.” 

“ If it’s worth doing,” his sister answered. ” It’s 
certainly not worth while to swot one’s eyes out all day 
in an office.” 

” No,” Lucy agreed judicially, looking at his plate. 

” Some chaps have work they like — me, for instance,” 
Bill pointed out. 

” And there are holidays in the country,” said Claire, 
” and music and nice people ” 

” And, of first importance, food,” Henrietta 
interrupted. 

You vile materialist, you unutterably gloomy pessi- 
mist, you chastening cynic, what ? ” said Bill, staring 
across at the last speaker. Then, turning to Claire, he 
went on : ” Has she informed you that I’ve proposed 

marriage to her ? ” 

” Oh, Bill/* Henrietta cried, ” I wanted to tell Claire I 


HENRIETTA AND BILL 205 

I was going to tell her in the lady's room, only there 
wasn't time. You are a selfish pig." 

" Well, you can tell 'em whether you've accepted me 
or not." 

Claire raised her glass, and Lucy followed suit. 

" What does one say ? " she asked nobody in 
particular, smiling. 

“ Say your heart is too full." 

" Say marriage is a lottery." 

" Say that you thought she was wedded to the 
muse " 

“ Wedded to the blues, you mean " 

" But don’t say you expected it. It is not good form 
to tell home truths when dining out." 

" Our standard of wit is lower than usual this evening." 

Eventually Lucy and Claire succeeded in drinking 
the health of the engaged couple. Claire's spirits had 
risen immediately on hearing the news. Her wish was 
to see her friend alone and have an opportunity of showing 
the warm, keen joy she felt, which raised her heart like 
wine. It was indeed a great enough joy to swamp for 
the evening her anxiety about Clement. When the girls 
went to get their cloaks she clasped her hand round 
Henrietta’s arm and said, " Darling, what a pity you 
can’t be married at once." 

“Yes, isn’t it rotten ? Bill was an idiot not to ask 
me sooner. I could slap him. You see, I knew if I 
asked him he’d refuse. He’s disgustingly nohow- 
contrary-wise. It only happened to-day. He’s going 
to try and get special leave in June." 

“ Henrietta, I am so pleased. He's a dear, though 
of course not a patch on you. Thank goodness you’re 
happy." 

“Oh, Claire ! " her companion sighed, “ if only you 
could be happy too." 

Of Bill’s imminent danger they did not speak. 

During one of the intervals of the revue to which they 
went, Bill and Lucy left their seats, and Claire, turning 


2o6 quiet interior 

to her friend, said in a low voice, ''Tell me about 
it.” 

Henrietta related in a whisper : "I thought, perhaps, 
that Bill was a little keen on me before he went to the 
front, and I just liked it. It’s perfectly topping to be 
admired — it makes you feel much cleverer and better- 
looking, and as if you could do anything. Then I began 
to be sorry, because I didn’t think I was going to be 
keen on him. Yet I was sure in my bones that if he 
made love to me it would be all right. Then he came on 
leave ; and as he did and said nothing more than usual, 
I decided I’d been a damn fool, and imagined the whole 
thing, and I was rather dim. Well, last Thursday, 
before your dinner-party, he was at the flat with me, 
and, as it was getting late, I told him he’d better buzz 
off to the studio to dress. He looked most fearfully fed 
up, and I couldn’t make it out. He said, ' Henrietta, 
you beast, don’t you mind a bit what I feel like ? ’ Well, 
Claire— was I an idiot ? — I didn’t know how to take it ; 
I asked him what I’d done, and he said, ' Why did I go 
on like that ? ’ I said, ' My dear old idiot, like what ? ’ 
and he stumped off, scowling. I felt rotten. Then, on 
the Friday he said nothing ; I had the absolute jim-jams. 
On Saturday, he suddenly asked me, ' Are we as we were, 
or not ? ’ I said I didn’t know what he was driving at. 
So then he told me — and about time too. All that part’s 
queer and indistinct in my memory. He’d been thinking 
for a long time we might get married, and he’d thought 
I liked him until the Thursday, when he got a nasty doubt .” 

" Which you did not dispel ? ” said Claire. 

" Well, I couldn’t very well assume he was proposing 
to me, could I ? The evidence was insufficient. Men 
really are extraordinary the way they expect to have it 
both ways. They want to do the proposing, but, on the 
other hand, they want the woman to show them quite 
clearly just whether it’s worth their while to propose or 
not. Damn it ! You can’t cling to a man till you’re 
sure he wants you to cling.’' 


207 


HENRIETTA AND BILL 

** So that was that/’ 

Oh, no, it wasn’t. Far from it. Of course I was 
fearfully happy about his wanting me ; but he was so 
calm over it all. It was this pestiferous reserved Anglo- 
Saxon touch of his. And I couldn’t say to him, ‘ Bill, 
for Heaven’s sake kiss me,’ which was what I wanted. 
I don’t mean to say I lacked the nerve to say it, or to 
kiss him, but that wouldn’t do. It had to be him. I 
mean I wouldn’t feel right till then. Well, I hadn’t 
committed myself, and on Saturday we were no forrader. 
However, on Saturday afternoon he became decently 
Celtic, or Hibernian, or whatever it is. Then we began 
to discuss the first stages of our affair ; and, my dear, 
when it dawned on him that I hadn’t been sure, at the 
beginning of his leave, that I loved him, he got the wind 
up most fearfully.” 

What do you mean ? Be quick, they’ll be back 
soon. Talk softly, that old hag’s listening,” said Claire. 

“ He called me his dearest child, and said I was being 
carried away by my passions ! Did you ever hear such 
rot ? I tried to explain, but he was quite different. 
So I agreed to everything he said. He said I must think 
it over and not hurry, and let him know by letter after 
he’d left. I felt deathly that night. So I wrote him a 
letter beseeching him to be engaged to me ; and this 
evening, after we’d been to your house, I gave it to him ; 
and he allowed himself to be persuaded that I really did 
care.” 

At this point they perceived the young men returning, 
and Henrietta ceased her narrative. Her new trans- 
forming happiness told Claire all that she had omitted. 


CHAPTER XVI 
Return 

Pauline returned on Tuesday in time for lunch. She 
possessed an added grace and freshness acquired from the 
country airs, and brought into the house at Westminster 
a sense of hyacinths standing in pools of sunlight and 
the pale green diapered pattern of young ivy leaves 
under the curved bramble sprays at a wood’s edge. 
Curiously enough, the effect of her brief stay out of 
London was to accentuate her poise and delicacy rather 
than to flush and rusticate her with sunburn and exercise. 
A faint likeness to Claire, which at ordinary times con- 
sisted only in the formation of her brows and eyelids 
and temples, was to-day increased ; her eyes had a 
quietude, her gestures an economy, which one might 
more readily have attributed to the repressive influence 
of town. The close pattern of ivy creeping through 
the grass has a kinship with the moulding of Georgian 
houses and the exquisite small balanced designs of 
Wedgwood plaques. Pauline seemed to-day to make 
this kinship manifest. Her eyes, often merely blue-grey, 
were to-day, perhaps by some accident of reflection, the 
blue verging on violet of wild hyacinths. 

The lunch bell had rung, and Tom Norris and Claire 
were just rising from their joint labours in the library, 
when the door opened and she came buoyantly in, dressed 
in the tweeds that had provoked Henrietta’s admiration 
and mockery the autumn before, and a hat of fine straw, 
plain save for three tiny blue jay’s feathers stuck in the 
ribbon. 

“ Lunch,” she said, in her clear but not boisterous 


RETURN 209 

tones. Come on, father, I have a true golfer’s 
appetite.” 

” That’s right,” Tom Norris answered, regarding her 
over his spectacles with evident satisfaction. ” Has 
Hilary come back, too ? ” He had already been informed 
of the probable length of her absence, but it was his un- 
failing custom to ask after his family. 

” No. She’s coming on Thursday or Friday. Aunt 
Connie sent her love to every one. She hopes you’re 
going to stay with her soon, Claire.” 

They went in to lunch, and Claire told her sister of 
Henrietta's engagement to Bill Osier. Pauline did not 
say much, but, when the meal was over, and their parents 
had left the dining-room, she lingered with her sister. 
It was Pauline’s custom, if her thoughts were busy, to 
walk smoking up and down the long room. Claire still 
sat at the table, half turned towards the window. 

” What was it like at Aunt Connie’s ? ” she asked. 

” It was rather like a household economy school. In 
the morning we made the beds — you know they do on 
two servants now, and a boy. Then we cleaned the 
silver, or, rather, two of us did that while the other 
dusted the drawing-room knick-knacks. Then we 
gardened, or pretended to garden. I pretended. After 
lunch, golf with Uncle Frank. After tea, golf or walk. 
After dinner, whist or piquet, or, specially to please 
Hilary and me, auction. On Sunday there was a tea- 
fight ; I suppose to test Hilary’s social sense.” 

” How did she stand it ? ” 

” Oh, very well. So did I. It’ll be your turn next.” 

” Aunt Connie has decided already that I’ve none. 
I can’t make tea-parties ' go.* ” 

” I always wish they’d ‘ go * sooner than they do. 
However, it was quite fun. And at night Hilary and I 
used to jaw. We shared the big spare bedroom.” 

Claire breathed a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever 
deity had prevented her from going on this visit. 

“You liked that ? ” she presently said, tentatively and 


210 QUIET INTERIOR 

yet deliberately. She had an intuition of a change in 
Pauline, a change of attitude, somehow brought about 
during her absence, and she wished to substantiate this 
impression. 

Pauline looked for two seconds faintly embarrassed. 
She then replied : “Yes. We got an awfully well.“ 
There was a certain reserve in her tone, and while she 
continued to perambulate, her sister continued to look 
at her. Without returning this gaze Pauline suddenly 
went on, in an altered voice, one of frank admission: 
“You know, Claddie, Hilary’s an awfully good sort — 
and awfully interesting, too. She tells one things. I 
feel positively as if I’ve grown an inch during the week- 
end, from experience — ^you know — second-hand.’’ 

“ Vicarious,*’ Claire supplied. 

*‘ That’s it : vicarious experience. After all, it is 
interesting to have a sister whose been to India and 
Greece and Russia, as well as Belgium, and ordinary 
places like that.’’ 

Of course it is,’’ Claire agreed, while her thoughts 
ran like lightning : *‘ Why are people always apologising 
to me ? — first Clement and now Pauline. What’s wrong 
with me ? ’’ 

** And not only that, but she talks to one — about her 
own experiences, and the people who’ve wanted to 
marry her and so on. Do you remember you said she 
had a grip on things ? I feel as though she mattered — 
— her opinions — ^what she thinks of other people, and of 
oneself.’’ 

There was silence : Claire had nothing to say. She 
had only a sense of fulfilment and of impotence. She 
knew that she had no gifts hke Hilary’s with which to 
ensure Pauline’s admiration. She could only open her 
arms, and willingly, though sadly, let her go. 

Pauline went on pacing ; and although her next 
speech was not a direct answer to the silence, her sister 
knew that she had perceived it. “I think Hilary 
knows who’s who, and what’s what better than we do. 


RETURN 211 

We only know a narrow set of people — Bayswater — and 
of course, the Lincolns. We don't even know the Lin- 
colns' friends, the people Henrietta calls Bloomsburies 
and Chelseas. Our — circle is very — narrow, isn't it, 
and " 

Limited," Claire suggested. 

Pauline accepted this gratefully. Claire had, during 
her speech, an impression that she was repeating an only 
half-mastered lesson ; or that she was trying to express 
her thoughts in a new language. It was all so unlike 
Pauline — the least analytic of persons, the least prone 
to psychological curiosity. 

"Not that I have a great desire to know Blooms- 
buries and Chelseas," she went on more cheerfully, " but 
it all — " she hesitated a^ain, and frowned as she paced 
and blew smoke — " it strikes me that hfe might be more 
exciting with all the people who live in London." 

"We are at war, you know," her sister pointed out. 

" Oh, you don't understand," said PauHne impatiently, 
" the war has nothing to do with it. If there was peace 
we'd be just the same, mugging along with Stokes's and 
Benjamins. After all, we aren't dull or stupid or ugly, 
are we ? " 

" No, I suppose we're fairly amusing." 

" I wonder what you do think about us ? " the new 
Pauline exclaimed, stopping and facing her sister across 
the dining-table. " Now, I know what father thinks ; 
he thinks we're wonders of beauty and talent, and 
mother's hke you. Now Hilary knows what she thinks 
and says so. And she has rather a high standard." 

" So that if you came up to it you feel you must be 
rather splendid ? '' Claire half asked, half stated, " and 
naturally, you feel flattered ? " She was perfectly 
serious. 

Pauline, still standing opposite, drew in some smoke, 
but her eyes looked inclined to smile, Claire thought. 
The latter must, however, have been mistaken, for the 
answer came a trifle defiantly : "Yes. You yourself 


212 QUIET INTERIOR 

said that Hilary had a grasp of things ; isn't that rather 
splendid ? " 

Yes, I think perhaps it is,” Claire answered slowly. 

” O Claddie ! ” Pauline cried, half laughing, half 
irritated, ” there you go ! * Yes, perhaps it is,' ‘Yes, I 

suppose so ' ! 0 dear ! you are so careful and cautious. 

Henrietta may try till all’s blue to turn you into an 
anarchist ; she never will. Why are you like that ? In 
all these months you’ve never said anything one could 
catch hold of — about yourself or anyone else. You 
never even told me about Henrietta and Bill, though 
you must have known beforehand. You are really too 
reserved for words.” She still stood contemplating her 
sister, and then, turning, walked to the window and 
stood humming under her breath. Poor Millie’s Work 
surveyed them in the ensuing silence. Claire’s eyes 
wandered over its famihar tones and values ; she envied 
those personages who hved in a world narrower and 
more limited even than the society of Bayswater, quieter 
than the Westminster street, and where the mysteries 
of human motive, the complications of human conduct 
were absent, and the inhabitants indissolubly united. 

She sat in a stillness that was not stimned, and which 
yet lacked emotion. Her intellect recognised the truth 
of Pauline’s indictment ; she confronted the image of 
herself thus presented and saw that it was just. The 
accusations levelled at her were the same as Clement 
had made, fragmentarily and in jest. She was indeed 
careful and cautious ; she had not, in the sense that 
Pauline meant, made a friend of her ; she had been 
reserved. To reply that she could not discuss Henri- 
etta’s affairs with some one who disliked Henrietta would 
be to beg the question. In reality she had no defence, or, 
at least, none that she could put forward or that her sister 
would comprehend. Only the latter’s obvious embarrass- 
ment, humming at the window, forced Claire to speak. 

” I told you about Ivor Webb,” she said, and smiled 
at the feebleness of her belated retort. 


RETURN 213 

Pauline moved from the window. Oh, yes. Of 
course I was ridiculous to talk like that just now. You've 
been a brick to me. I told Hilary how ripping you’d 
been.” 

Claire winced. 

”... And the way you’ve practised those wretched 
accompaniments . . .” 

” Which,” Claire said to herself, ” Hilary can play 
quite adequately at first sight.” 

” Don’t think I want to be a beast, Claire,” Pauline 
pursued. ” I know you can’t help being reserved. In 
fact, I expect it’s a very good thing to be. I must say 
I loathe girls who go round telling everybody they’ve 
had a proposal.” 

” The fact of the matter is,” her sister answered, smiling 
a httle, ” that I’ve never had a proposal of marriage to 
confide.” As she spoke, she thoughc with unusual cynic- 
ism that the picture of her as a little nursery governess 
or, in Hilary’s revised version, an urban Bronte, might 
as well be complete — as much of an artistic whole as 
possible. 

The other turned and smiled too, frankly and friendly, 
a^ she said : ” Now I come to think of it, I don’t believe 
you have. . . . Well, I must buzz off. I’m due at the 
Benjamins’ for tea, and I must change first. Take 
Thomas if you go out with Matthew.” 

She vanished, and Claire stayed for a time pondering 
the influence, deliberate or unconscious, which had so 
modified her younger sister’s attitude to herself, and her 
outlook on life. She had quickly perceived that Hilary 
was unavowedly hostile to herself, openly hostile to the 
Benjamins and Pauline’s preoccupation with music. 
Claire had always known that Pauline was adaptable ; 
but the ease and speed with which she had responded to 
a new and contrary influence was surprising . . . no, 
perhaps not surprising, in view of Hilary! s strong person- 
ality, and the glamour which clings to the returned 
traveller. Claire had, however, such confidence in her 


214 QUIET INTERIOR 

junior’s essential kindness and sense of proportion that 
she regarded her contact with a hard and worldly nature 
not so much as a disaster to Pauline, as an indescribable 
triumph for Hilary, or trial for herself. Pauline would 
not be permanently spoilt by Hilary’s flattery or am- 
bition ; her own straightforward, clear, humorous nature 
would reassert itself ; the chief danger would lie in the 
artificial reinforcement of her natural selfishness. 

As Claire came downstairs a short while later, dressed 
for exercising the dogs, Alice opened the front door to 
a telegraph boy. Mrs. Norris was lying down with a 
headache, so the girl tore the envelope with trembling 
hands and read : 

“ Arrived to-day. Hospital Park Square. Wound in 
leg not serious . — Clement Parsons.” 

She put out a hand blindly to the banisters, and 
said : ” No answer.” Her heart closed on the tidings ; 
she had no sensations save that of enclosing them. 

Turning, she ran upstairs to Pauline’s door and tapped. 

” Come in,” her sister called. 

'' Pauline — Clement is wounded. I’m going to Park 
Square to see him. Tell mother before you go out.” 
Without waiting for a reply she went swiftly down and 
out of the house. 

Fortunately, a taxi was passing down Buckingham 
Gate ; very soon, and yet after an exceedingly long time, 
she was across the Park, and descended before a large 
house of which the door stood open. An orderly in a 
white coat answered her ring, and led her upstairs. She 
had a glimpse of officers in khaki standing in the large 
hall. Everywhere was a smell of disinfectant. On the 
first floor a solemn-looking nurse met her, and told her 
that Mr. Parsons was rather tired out by his journey ; 
but after a long look at the girl she added : “You could 
see him just for a moment,” and opened a door. 

Claire found herself in a very long, bright, simply- 
distempered room, running to right and left of the door, 
apparently the whole length of the house. Under the 


RETURN 


215 

six windows was a row of beds, and under the two 
other windows at one end. There were white screens 
here and there, and huge vases of flowers. Several 
visitors sat by prostrate friends, and there was a cheerful, 
subdued sound of talk. A young man in a khaki dressing- 
gown, sitting up in a chair, was winding a gramophone, 
which presently began to sing in the voices of Elsie Janis 
and Basil Hallam. Claire went slowly down the room, 
disconcerted at intervals by the unexpected position of 
a bed not placed parallel with the rest. She saw no 
form that she recognised. A nurse suddenly appeared 
from nowhere, spoke to her and directed her to a far 
corner. She retraced her steps, keeping her eyes before 
her from a sort of modesty : these men were, or had 
lately been, in pain ; they had struggled in hell, and no 
stillness and peace, comfort and security, flowers and 
sunlight, could ever quite atone. She felt herself re- 
sponsible — as is every inhabitant of every land at war 
— for their suffering and loss of limbs and health, their 
horrible memories and intolerable nightmares ; and her 
responsibility combined with her immunity made her 
ashamed. 

She saw Clement lying in bed against the wall opposite 
the windows, a screen shading his head. His eyes were 
closed in his pale face. She sat down quietly and waited. 
Presently, he stirred, opened his eyes, and turned his 
head her way. 

Claire,” he said without surprise. 

She leaned forward and took his hand. 

I’m back soon,” he said with an embryonic smile. 

How is your leg ? How do you feel ? ” Claire asked 
gently. 

It’s not very bad. But I shall probably be lame. 
Wasn’t I lucky to get a blighty ? ” 

She nodded, trying to smile, and, loosening her grasp, 
sat back. 

You came sooner than I expected,” he went on. 

'' Why, as soon as I got the wire, of course. Have 


2i6 quiet interior 

you been in hospital in France ? They didn’t let us 
know.” 

No, I got hit on Sunday afternoon. They took me 
to a field dressing-station. I started back on Monday. 
Do you know, I haven’t been out there a fortnight. 
Isn’t it absurd ? ” 

“You got out on the ninth, didn’t you ? ” 

“Yes. . . . It took less than that to do poor Margesson 
in.” 

His voice had grown weak. He lay now staring at 
the ceiling, while Claire sat staring at him. She could 
scarcely believe that it was he, so short a while was it 
since she had bid him good-bye. Yet the time had not 
seemed short. His return seemed too good to be true, 
yet her heart was strangely empty of joy ; she only felt 
an immense tenderness and pity, a passionate wish to 
heal him, to make all smooth for him, to give him his 
heart’s desire ; and a simultaneous longing to kneel by 
the bed, to lay her forehead in his slack hand, and to stay 
so, understanding and understood for unheeded hours. 

At last she said : “I think I ought to go. The nurse 
only let me in just to say ‘ Hullo ! ’ and then come away. 
I’ll come to-morrow and stay longer, if you aren’t feehng 
bad. Do you want something to read ? ” 

“ I shall soon. Whatever you think. Thanks awfully. 
Must you go ? Give my love to Mrs. Norris and Pauline. 
I hope they’ll come and see me.” 

“ Of course they will.” 

“ And I want to see Hilary.” 

As they shook hands, Claire remembered their last 
grip, he at the carriage window, she on the platform — 
her hour of agony. Tears suddenly stung her eyelids, 
and she turned quickly away ; but they were not merely 
tears of self-pity. The whole atmosphere and appearance 
of the hospital from the moment of her entrance had been 
working on her nerves ; the calm and light, the flowers 
and talk, no less than the odour of medicaments and the 
bandaged heads, contributed to the effect of tragedy. 


RETURN 217 

As she passed out of the room, the voice of Miss Lee White, 
pleasantly husky, was remarking : 

“ Every little while I feel so lonely.” 

Claire walked quickly to Marble Arch and took a bus 
to Piccadilly ; she then walked up to Solomon's. The 
large window was beautifully arranged with flowers and 
fruits ; in the left-hand window a pyramid of flushed 
hot-house peaches and jade-coloured and purple grapes 
stood in the middle in a gilded basket. There were 
boxes of blood-oranges from Palermo; green Austrahan 
apples in wicker trays ; small Canary bananas ; and 
baskets of forced strawberries. In the right-hand window, 
in a high green vase stood branches of white lilac, pure 
and yet exotic ; drooping cream-coloured freezias, strong 
daffodils, pheasant-eye narcissi, and stalwart little 
yellow jonquils, anemones from Italy, wine-red and 
purple ; dark English and pale Parma violets ; bunches 
of perfect half-opened roses — Madame Chatenay's silvery 
shell-pink, Hugh Dickson's rich crimson, Killarney's 
white ; and, in low pots, delicate Roman and fat pink 
and Wedgwood-blue and indigo hyacinths. Claire stood 
in fascinated contemplation ; there was something royal, 
triumphant, superb in the flawlessness of these blooms — 
a perfection never attained by human loveliness ; com- 
parable only to the perfection of gems in the finest 
settings and strings of the rarest pearls. 

She entered the shop, warm and heavily perfumed, 
and ordered some grapes to be sent to Clement that day. 
Then she hesitated ; should she wait and take flowers 
to-morrow ? No, he would like some to-night ; he would 
feel less cut off from his friends. The shopman made a 
gesture towards the red roses, but she turned away ; 
the remembrance of Clement's gift last autumn, and her 
coincident realisation of his impulse towards Pauline, 
was too vivid. She chose a bundle of daffodils with 
deep golden trumpets and pale outer petals, and a large 
bunch of sweet, sombre Devonshire violets. 


2i8 quiet interior 

When she got home, her father met her in the hall 

“ So the boy’s back ! ” he said. '‘Is he badly 
wounded ? ” 

" He says not ; but it must be pretty bad as he thinks 
he’ll be lame.” 

Tom Norris shook his head. ” They’re sad days, 
Claddie,” he said. Claire began to mount the stairs. 

” That letter you drafted to Montgomery will do very 
well,” he went on. 

"I’m glad, father. Is mother still lying down ? ” 

” Yes. I’ve sent for Blagden. She thinks she’s got — 
er — something. You’d better not go in till we hear what 
it is.” 

Claire, however, ignored this injunction and looked 
softly in at Mrs. Norris’s door. The latter was asleep, 
so she crept out again and went upstairs. 

Her own room was full of pale afternoon light from 
the north-west, which turned her creamy bedspread and 
the broad mounts of her photographs in their thin narrow 
ebony frames into wan expanses of white. She took off 
her hat, and then her shoes, and sat, in the rather helpless 
condition to which shoelessness reduces one, considering 
what a great deal had happened in the past two hours. 
The news and then the sight of Clement, stood out as 
the supreme event, flanked on either side by the lesser 
occurrences ; the conversation with Pauline and its 
purport ; and their mother’s indisposition. Of the two, 
the former, being an abstract contingency, necessarily 
held, for a person of Claire’s temperament and character, 
the place of first importance ; the situation which it 
signalled might very likely have a great and lasting 
influence on the relation of the sisters ; Pauline’s new 
allegiance was not a development whose significance 
Claire would or could minimise. On the other hand, 
illness in the Norris family was so rare as to be rather 
alarming ; with all Claire’s and her mother’s delicate 
look, they had scarcely ever needed to be under a doctor’s 
care, and Pauline’s health was proverbial. For Mrs. 


RETURN 219 

Norris to have expressed the opinion that she “ had 
something '' meant that she was feeling extremely 
unwell ; it occurred to Claire that she ought to urge her 
mother to go to bed. She had no fear of disease for 
herself, but an almost superstitious fear of it for others. 
She rose presently, and put on her shoes. 

Her thoughts returned inevitably to the other prostrate 
figure, a few miles off, and to be visited again on the 
morrow. She had promised to take him books : which ? 
She glanced at the shelf where stood her recent purchases 
and the books borrowed from, or rather pressed on her, 
by Henrietta Lincoln and Leonard Benjamin. She felt 
at liberty, however, to pass on Henrietta's loans to 
Clement. She would take him the Story of GOsta Berling 
and Conrad's Youth for romance ; Bell's Art for his 
more serious moments ; Trivia and Peacock Pie for 
moments of idleness and dream. An ironical echo of 
the last title caught her eyes, and she added to her 
mental list Lawrence's White Peacock^ to balance romance 
with realism. 

There was a tap at her door, and her father's voice 
called her. She started almost guiltily, realising how her 
thoughts had carried her far from her mother. She 
went quickly and opened. It was almost unpre- 
cedented for Tom Norris to climb so high in his own 
house ; he must be much disturbed to have done so ; 
indeed, distress showed in his round pink face and 
round blue eyes. “ I've persuaded your mother to 
go to bed," he said hesitatingly. " She's very hot 
and cold. Dr. Blagden hasn't come yet. Have you a 
thermometer ? " 

" No." 

" She asked for a thermometer. There isn't one in the 
house." He looked his dismay at being unable to satisfy 
his wife's least wish. 

" Dr. Blagden will bring one," said Claire reassuringly. 
" I'll go and help her to get to bed." 

" That's a good girl," her father replied, forgetting 


220 QUIET INTERIOR 

his recent prohibition. “ Ellen is with her, but what 
good are these servants ? '' 

He turned, and the girl followed him down. 

“ I'm going to the stores to get her some grapes," he 
said ; and Claire wondered suddenly what had made her 
go so determinedly to Solomon’s that afternoon : the 
working of her own and other people’s minds struck her 
as a mysterious business. She suddenly saw her own 
and other people’s mental processes as a tangled jungle, 
an unexplored hinterland, a forest tract, a region of 
secrets and surprises, a veritable heart of darkness. 


CHAPTER XVII 
The Fruit Ripens 

Hilary sat at the bureau in the back drawing-room of 
the house in Westminster, dealing with some letters 
which she had allowed to accumulate during the past 
few days. She had returned on Thursday afternoon 
to find Mrs. Norris and Claire in bed with influenza. 
When Alice informed her of this, Hilary stood still in 
the hall, as though considering a project ; it did, in fact, 
occur to her to return to Mrs. Agnew’s, but on second 
thoughts she walked resolutely into the library. 

Tom Norris was sitting at his writing-table, before a 
confusion of papers. He looked up, as she entered, with 
a rather lost and puzzled expression. As she kissed him 
he said : Had a good time, eh ? ” 

'' Splendid, thanks. Daddy.’' Hilary was the only 
one of his daughters who had retained the childish title, 
eschewed by Claire several years ago, and by Pauline 
when she attained womanhood. I hear that mother 
and Claire have ’flu. What a nuisance for them ! What 
are their temperatures ? ” 

** Your mother’s is down a bit to-day, below normal. 
Claddie’s is still up — hundred and one, I think Dr. 
Blagden said.” 

“ I suppose he’s giving them aconite or aspirin ? ” 

Her father gave her a suddenly shrewd look. ” You’ll 
be able to ask him when he comes this evening,” he said. 
'' Claddie’s asleep. I went up just now to ask — to see 
her, and she was dozing.” 

'' That’s a good thing. She’d better be left. Where’s 
Pauline ? ” 


221 


222 QUIET INTERIOR 

She’s gone to see Clement Parsons.” 

” Oh ! He’s on leave, is he ? ” 

” No, he’s in hospital, wounded.” 

** Really ! That’s very quick work, surely ? ” 

“ It doesn’t take long to get wounded,” her father had 
replied. 

It was now Monday. Mrs. Norris, whose attack had 
been the milder, was sitting up by a fire in her room, 
while her husband read her portions of The Times. This 
was an act almost without precedent ; at ordinary times 
he correctly assumed that her interest in politics was 
very slight, and her interest in the war spasmodic and 
confined to picturesque details. His present attention 
was directed less towards her entertainment than as a 
sort of tribute to that mysterious goddess. Disease — ^the 
respectful homage of a man to something beyond his ken. 

Claire had not yet risen from her bed. She lay idle 
for long periods, sometimes dreaming, sometimes with 
an almost blank mind, and occasionally read a little. 
Matthew, who slept at night on her fur bed rug, was 
allowed to spend part of the day curled heavily upon 
her feet. He seldom deserted her. Pauline looked in 
at odd moments, to give her news of Clement and her 
mother, to bring her the Taller and Vogue, or a piece of 
gossip, to smile delightfully and vanish. Her father 
came less often, either dutifully — for he felt uneasy in 
a sick-room, and in the presence of a strange, still flushed 
or pallid Claire — or apologetically to ask her help over 
some difficulty due to his incomplete mastery of her 
filing system, or a hiatus in his memory. Regularly once 
a day Hilary entered, reminded her to take her medicine, 
straightened her sheets, shook up her pillows with a 
practised hand, and asked her what she was inclined to 
eat. She was calm and business-like ; but her economy 
of words and brevity of sojourn told Claire plainly what 
she already knew — ^that Hilary cared little for her 
company. 

Instead of leaving her indifferent, this daily reminder 


THE FRUIT RIPENS 223 

that her own slight aversion to Hilary was reciprocated 
displeased her. Honrs of pondering showed her that she 
was still open to conquest by her elder sister, still sensitive 
to her opinion ; that she had a small, secret, ashamed 
desire for Hilary’s approval, if not for her affection. She 
understood well why Pauline set store by Hilary’s con- 
sideration ; she herself coveted it, while all the time 
feeling an antipathy, as to an unshaded light, an in- 
sistent noise — while all the time criticising Hilary’s com- 
placency and density, her apparent indifference to 
subtlety, nobility and abstract beauty. They were as 
uncongenial and divided as an Oriental and a European, 
and yet Claire found herself hoping for a rapprochement, 
looking for a hint of understanding, and was each day a 
little disappointed. 

She tried to describe this frame of mind to Henrietta. 
Henrietta was, with Matthew, her most constant com- 
panion ; she came every morning, and yesterday had 
stayed for lunch and the afternoon as well, reading aloud, 
desultorily talking of her and Bill’s plans, or sitting 
silent in a deep chair while Claire rested. 

I looked into the larder as I came up,” she said 
to-day, and there was Hilary scribbling away for dear 
life. I expect she writes rather good letters, doesn’t 
she ? ” 

''Yes. Mother has packets of them — all she wrote 
while she was away — from India and Constantinople and 
Greece and Belgium, Holland and Russia.” 

" She is rather extraordinary for twenty-three,” 
Henrietta mused. " She’s more like thirty. . . . Who 
was it said somebody was ' spiritually an idiot ’ ? ” 

Claire was too much accustomed to her friend’s in- 
consequence to be puzzled by this question. 

" She makes me feel a child,” Henrietta pursued, " and 
yet all the time I’m conscious of my superiority ! I 
suppose children feel like that about grown-ups. . . . 
She does do her hair well.” 

" She does so many things well.” 


224 QUIET INTERIOR 

** Yes ; she’s damnably capable. If she came and 
did ‘ cool hand on the brow ' to me, I should have an 
instantaneous relapse.” The speaker had witnessed the 
pillow-shaking. “ And now that I come to think of it, 
she’s not at all unlike a hospital nurse.” She proceeded 
further to malign that profession. 

But,” Claire protested, she doesn’t bore me with 
her love affairs, nor tell her fortune perpetually by 
cards ; she keeps them for Pauline.” 

'‘You don’t mean to say you want to hear about her 
conquests ? ’ ’ cried Henrietta. “I’ve always imagined you 
weren’t inquisitive.” 

“ I’m not exactly curious ; but I’d rather like her to 
want to make a friend of me.” 

“ Good Lord ! — ^the Happy Catechist ? ” 

“Yes. I don’t like being left out of it with her and 
Pauline.” 

“ I thought because of Pauline, though.” 

“ Yes, that too,” Claire explained. “ I mind awfully 
Pauline preferring her to me ; but, besides that, I want 
Hilary to approve of me. I rather despise myself for 
it, because I don’t care for her.” 

“ Does Pauline prefer her ? ” 

“ Yes, I’m sure she does. She told me when she came 
back from Aunt Connie’s that she and Hilary were pretty 
thick.” 

“ Must it be one or t’other of you — for Pauline ? ” 

“ It seems so. She told me that Hilary confided in 
her, whereas I didn’t. She complained of my being too 
reserved.” 

“You could have kept her, then ? ” Henrietta said 
gently, after a pause. She was always inciting Claire to 
analysis, seldom by precept, very often by example — 
her own honesty was unflinching — and by this direct 
method. 

Claire looked at her for a few moments, and then re- 
plied : “ I suppose if I was a different person I might. 
Though I don’t see how I could compete with Hilary — 


THE FRUIT RIPENS 225 

she*s rather an unusual person, we all agree. No wonder 
Pauline is excited by her. But perhaps if I’d confided 
in her — Pauline, I mean — and been very intimate with 
her, she’d have gone on as.^we were. The trouble is that 
the only thing I have to confide is too — too serious. It’s 
difficult enough to talk to you about it.” 

Henrietta nodded. ” Whereas,” she said, ” Hilary 
probably has dozens of lively experiences to shell out — 
nice boys in Petersburg, and charming subalterns in 
Quetta — pukka sahibs, what ? — and all that. Not to 
speak of Belgee poets ; though I must own I think 
Felix Gregoire deserves a better fate than to be one of 
Hilary’s tame cats.” 

” The funny thing is,” Claire answered, ” that I’m 
certain he takes her with a grain of salt ” 

” With his tongue in his cheek ? ” 

” Yes, a little. And yet you can see he likes and 
admires her.” 

” I’m longing to see what Clement makes of her ; he’ll 
size her up,” said Henrietta, with thoughtful relish. 
” By the way, I asked Pauline to find out at the hospital 
whether it was bad for him to see more than one person. 
I’d like to go to-morrow.” 

” Oh, do. I expect I shall be out to-morrow — don’t 
you think so ? ” Claire’s voice was so childlike and 
appealing that her friend rose, bent over and stooped to 
kiss her. 

“ I hope so,” she answered. ” But look here, we’ve 
jawed long enough. Couldn’t you sleep now till lunch ? ” 

” Perhaps, if you read to me. Read me some Rupert 
Brooke.” 

*■ There’s a splendid somnoliser among the Hawaiian 
ones,” said Henrietta, turning the pages. Then she 
began to read : 

“ ‘ In your arms was still delight 
Quiet as a street at night ; 

And thoughts of you, I do remember, 

Were green leaves in a darkened chamber 


P 


226 QUIET INTERIOR 

Claire closed her eyes, and let the soft words lull her ; 
all peace was in those couplets, all fulfilment of her desire. 
It was herself speaking ; and yet, if it was Clement, how 
gladly she would play the part of comforter. . . . 


“ ‘ . . . O infinite deep I never knew, 

I would come back, come back to you, 

Find you, as a pool unstirred. 

Kneel down by you, and never a word. 

Lay my head, and nothing said. 

In your hands, ungarlanded ; 

And a long watch you would keep ; 

And I should sleep, and I should sleep ! ’ ” 

Claire saw again Clement’s head tilted on the pillow, 
shadowed by the screen, and his hand, lying in the full 
light, palm upwards on the coverlet. Then sleep 
descended on her eyelids. 

When Henrietta had quietly left the room she met 
Pauline, who told her that she had seen the nurse, who 
said that the doctors were pleased with the rate at which 
Clement's leg was healing, and that there was no objection 
to his having several visitors. 

“ I think I’ll go this afternoon, then.” 

” Will you stay to lunch ? ” 

” No, thanks awfully ; I’ve promised to meet Lucy to 
look at some rat-tail spoons he wants to buy.” 

Pauline, returning to the back drawing-room, in- 
formed Hilary that Clement was better. The latter 
turned round in her chair, still holding the long emerald- 
green quill pen she affected. ” Oh, good ; then I can 
go and see him this p.m.,” she said. 

” Well, I’ve just arranged with Henrietta to go,” her 
sister answered, glancing round the room until she espied 
her book. 

” Oh ! ” Then, after a pause : ” Is she a great friend 
of his ? ” 

“ I don’t think so,” Pauline spoke with preoccupation, 
turning over the leaves of the novel. 


THE FRUIT RIPENS 227 

Hilary, still twisted towards her, tried another tack. 
'' Did he talk about the front ? ” 

No. He told me a little about Margesson — his 
friend, you know, who died of wounds. The rest of the 
time we talked about tennis.” 

Hilary hesitated as to which sign-post was the more 
significant. “ He’s keen, is he ? ” she finally asked. 

Pauline nodded. ” He said the doctors didn’t think 
his limp would be very bad.” 

” Does Claire play ? ” 

Pauline shook her head and began to read. 

Hilary, returning on her tracks, took the other road. 
“ Did you know this Margesson ? ” 

Pauline glanced up, perceived the determination ex- 
pressed in her sister’s face, and resigned her book. “ No,” 
she answered, ” I know nothing about him.” 

” Doesn’t Claire ? I think he sounds interesting. 
Margesson is a very good name.” She emphasised the 
word ” good ” as does one who uses it to describe a fabric 
of quality, not in the pseudo-slang way in which one 
says ” that’s a good colour.” She meant that the family 
bearing the name was old and respected, not that the 
name satisfied her aesthetic sense or her imagination. 

” Is it ? ” said Pauline. She was just beginning to 
be familiar with the subtleties of Hilary’s language — 
those words that were identical with her’s and Claire’s, 
but which, she had gradually become aware by tone and 
context, meant something she and Claire expressed 
differently or not at all ; and those words, foreign or 
slang, which she had perhaps heard but never used, such 
as pukka and cliM, schwdrmerei and poveretta, to which 
Hilary gave each its own special inflection and signifi- 
cance. This element of strangeness in her sister’s talk 
had an irresistible fascination for Pauline ; here she 
caught glimpses and whiffs of coloured and varied 
existences, wide horizons, strange tongues, far places — 
the stimulus of new experiences. She had in her talk 
with Claire omitted to speak of one of Hilary’s strongest 


228 QUIET INTERIOR 

holds upon her imagination — not deliberately, but because 
she was unconscious of it. Now, as always, she responded 
to the particular tone in which her sister made the ap- 
parently trivial remark about the name of Clement’s 
dead friend ; and, as Hilary still kept silence, she repeated 
with fully awakened interest : “ Is it ? ” 

‘'Yes. I wonder if Clement knows any of his people ? 
Of course, one can’t cross-question him about such a 
painful subject.” 

” Of course not,” Pauline agreed, ” but I expect Claire 
knows.” 

They went together to Park Square on the afternoon of 
the following day, with Thomas on a lead. By special 
permission he was to be allowed into the ward. They 
found Clement sitting up in bed. 

” Here’s Hilary.” said Pauline. 

“ I’ve been longing to come for days,” said Hilary, 
taking his hand and looking at him steadily while she 
smiled. ” I’ve heard such lots about you.” 

” It’s very nice of you,” he answered, with a touch of 
shyness, and immediately looked past her at her com- 
panion. 

” Here’s Thomas,” said Pauline, bringing the bull- 
dog close to the bedside. 

All the time that Clement caressed Thomas and con- 
versed with Thomas’s mistress Hilary studied him 
closely. The -moment he turned to her, however, her 
face broke into an effusive smile. ” And how’s the leg ? ” 
she asked. 

” Oh, splendid,” he replied. ” The old trout says I can 
get up the day after to-morrow, and sit in a chair. I shall 
be perfectly fit soon. How are Mrs. Norris and Claire ? ” 

” Mother’s practically well,” said Pauline, ” and Claire 
normal to-day, and is going to get up. She swears she’s 
coming to see you in the car to-morrow. By the way, 
mother says as soon as they let you out you’re to tell us, 
and we’ll come and take you out in the car.” 


THE FRUIT RIPENS 229 

'' Thanks, most awfully ; that is good of her. The 
old trout thinks I can start walking with sticks in about 
ten days or a fortnight. As soon as that happens I shall 
begin agitating about a job — light duty or something.” 
All the time he spoke, as during Pauline’s speech, his 
eyes were fixed on her ingenuously, almost with greed ; 
and when, asking whom he meant by the ‘'old trout,” 
she smiled, immediately an echoing smile came to his 
lips and eyes, as though he could not but reflect her 
slightest change of mood or manner. 

“ Claire said something about Bill Osier wangling you 
a job in the War Office,” Pauline remarked ; “he has a 
cousin who’s a big pot there, I think.” 

“ Then you’d be in London,” said Hilary brightly, 
glancing from one to the other of her companions. 

“ That’s very nice of Osier,” Clement answered. 
“ Claire’s always taking trouble of one sort or another. 
Don’t let her come out sooner than she ought, Pauline — 
although, of course, I want awfully to see her again.” 

As they left the hospital Hilary expressed regret that 
Clement hadn’t mentioned Margesson. 

“ Oh, well, he wouldn’t in front of a person he’d 
never seen before,” her sister pointed out. 

“ No, of course he wouldn’t. Still, I don’t feel like a 
stranger with him ; he seems more like a nice relation.” 

Pauline recognised the truth of this description, and 
made a sound of agreement. 

When they reached home she went up to Claire’s 
room. Claire was up and dressed, sitting near the 
window, for it was a warm afternoon. 

“ How is Clement ? ” she asked, deliberately, with an 
effort. 

“ Oh, much better ! He is anxious to see you again, 
but he doesn’t want you to go out too soon. He’s going 
to get up in two days, and he’s to start walking with 
crutches soon — I think he said in about a week.” 

“ I wonder when he’ll be able to come and stay here? ” 
Claire murmured. 


230 QUIET INTERIOR 

I should think fairly soon. Hilary says/' she went 
on, smiling a little, “ that Clement seems like a relation." 

Oh . . . yes." 

" I say, Claire," Pauline asked in a few moments, 
settling herself in a chair with a comfortable, confidential 
air, “ tell me abput Mr. Margesson." 

Claire was intensely sensitive to atmosphere. It was 
some weeks now since Pauline had spoken thus, settled 
herself thus, with a suggestion of close intimacy ; it 
brought a sudden warmth to her heart ; it seemed for 
a little while that they were close together again, with 
no third sister to interrupt their converse, break their 
tie, bring busy noise and light into their soft-hued seclu- 
sion. Pauline's recent visit to Clement gave her, too, 
an added value — ^though she was dear enough without 
that to make an hour alone with her pleasant and re- 
freshing. She had lost her hyacinth air, but nothing 
dimmed her beauty ; the tall, self-contained pink tulip 
was still fresh and graceful, though with a garden rather 
than with a wild-wood freshness and grace. Claire 
thought that if only Pauline would always be like this, 
would care greatly for her, Claire’s, company, and seek it, 
it would not matter what Hilary thought of them ; they 
two would snap their fingers at Miss Monk-Norris, her 
worldly wisdom, her competency, her unruffled good- 
humour, her steady brightness, her grasp, her breadth, 
her colossal self-confidence. 

" I know very little," she said, bending down to pat 
Matthew, and draw him into the intimacy too. ** He 
and Clement made friends very quickly — at once. His 
real name was Mosenstein, and he was a diamond 
merchant. He was fearfully keen on the war — on 
downing the Germans, although he had German re- 
lations. I think that some of the other men were rather 
snarky about him, poor man — I suppose because he was 
a Jew. He left all his money to Clement." 

" Oh ! Had he a lot ? " 

" I don’t know how much. But Clement said his father 


THE FRUIT RIPENS 231 

had died at the beginning of the war and he was an only 
son. What are you smiling at ? ” 

Pauline laughed outright. “ Fm amused because 
Hilary thought he must be a nut — she seemed to think 
Margesson was a nutty name — and he was really Mosen- 
stein ! 

Claire did not even smile. Hilary had intruded again, 
bringing with her through the medium of Pauline’s young, 
untarnished beauty, a horrible breath of coarseness and 
vulgarity into the quiet, happy room ; a breath from 
garish music halls where jokes are cracked about Jews, 
curates, henpecked husbands, drink and mothers-in-law. 
Claire had almost a shudder of repulsion, and said 
suddenly : “ It must be tea-time. Take Matthew out for 
a minute, will you ? ” 

Mrs. Norris appeared in the back drawing-room for 
tea ; Tom Norris also came in, a little late, and con- 
versation was general. It was not till bed-time that 
Hilary and Pauline had further converse alone. 

At that hour Hilary followed her sister into her room, 
and stood by the dressing-table, examining the blue 
Wedgwood medallions on the brushes and boxes one after 
the other. “ Is Claire going out to-morrow ? ” she 
presently inquired. 

She didn’t say.” 

** Pauline, these are delightful. Your room is delight- 
ful altogether — and so like you. It was so right to have 
it panelled, and all cream and buff. Your clothes and 
yourself provide the necessary colour.” 

The compliment was sufficiently indirect and veiled to 
please the younger girl without making her self-conscious. 
” I’m glad you like it,” she said. 

” I’ve seen a lovely piece of green and orange shot silk 
at Liberty’s which I’d like to stretch on the wall over my 
bed. My room wants colour, don’t you agree ? You 
must come with me to Liberty’s and look at it.” 

” Rather ! Of course I will It is a dull little 
room.” 


232 QUIET INTERIOR 

Yes. But Fm gradually brightening it up. Claire's 
is a funny monastic retreat." 

" Monastic ? " Pauline echoed, puzzled. 

** I must say I prefer yours and mine ! " Hilary's 
tone linked them together as devotees of gaiety and 
colour. " I suppose Claire will be down to-morrow." 

" Oh ! I say, Hilary " Pauline exclaimed lightly and 
carelessly, with a spurt of amusement, lapped in the 
congenial atmosphere of appreciation and mutual under- 
standing which Hilary could at moments create. " Claire 
says Margesson’s real name was Mosenstein, and that he 
left his money to Clement ! " 

A wise instinct kept the other silent ; too swift a reply, 
or further questioning, might have brought home to 
Pauline that she had been indiscreet, that she had repeated 
something told her in confidence. This did in fact occur 
to her after Hilary had left her, but she pushed aside the 
uncomfortable suspicion that she had done something to 
which Claire would object. " After all," she told herself, 
" Hilary is one of the family ; what Claire and I know, it 
can’t matter her knowing." But the discomfort remained 
at the back of her mind. 


CHAPTER XVIII 
Stage Management 

“ In fact/' Hilary summed up, ‘‘it's quite obvious to 
me that Clement has the makings of a rather remarkable 
young man." 

Pauline grunted a polite assent, not unlike a nurse who, 
in answer to her charge’s command of " Look ! " replies 
" Yes " in an unconvincing manner without moving 
her eyes from her sewing. She was seriously occupied 
in trying on shoes, of which several pairs had just arrived 
on approval. They, and their boxes, and the box-lids, 
lay scattered about the floor of her room, into which a 
beautiful late May afternoon brought a happy light and 
warmth, and a breeze the rumour of Westminster. There 
were white satin shoes with Louis heels, and white satin 
dancing shoes with no heels at all ; spangled shoes, shoes 
of silver, and shoes of pearl-sewn brocade. The latter 
were at present on Pauline's feet, and she was walking 
a few steps this way and that, with her head bent to see 
how they looked, and her attention concentrated to 
register how they felt. " I think these," she murmured, 
" but Leonard says no heels. That's absurd ; one can’t 
wear a sort of semi-Georgian dress with ballet shoes, can 
one ? On the other hand, I do see that high heels aren’t 
awfully moon-maidenish." 

" But then, strictly speaking, a moon-maiden wouldn't 
wear a semi-Georgian garment.” 

“ Well, I don't know : who says so ? " Pauline answered, 
but gaily and without contradictoriness. It was im- 
possible to be anything to-day but gay ; it was such 
lovely weather ; the shoes were so soft, fine and 

333 


234 QUIET INTERIOR 

expensive ; she and her sisters were going to a dance 
to-night ; and her mauve tulle dress had come back from 
the cleaners looking as good as new. Life was eminently 
a success ; and it was distinctly enhanced by the presence 
of Hilary, who was never out of temper or dismal, never 
absorbed in thought or unready for action, never secret 
or hard to understand. 

“ I say, I believe I interrupted you,’' said Pauline 
suddenly with amused compunction. ‘’Go on about 
Clement. Why is he remarkable ? ” 

“ I don’t say he is ; I say he might become so — if he 
had the right kind of surroundings. I talked to him 
all yesterday morning about farming, and he is full of 
ideas — progressive ideas — and schemes for experimenting 
with land and stock and so on. And then, my dear, 
with all that, he’s so presentable.” 

” Oh, yes. Why, did you think before you saw him 
that he was a country bumpkin ? ” 

” Well, all sorts have commissions nowadays. And 
then, Claddie likes some very queer fish, doesn’t she ? 
So that was no guarantee. Shall you have the sequin 
ones ? ” 

Pauline had now put into their boxes all the shoes save 
the pair which was closely sewn with tiny, shimmering 
discs and crystal beads. These she was holding up and 
turning so that they caught the light. 

‘‘Yes, I think so — or the pearl ones. I’d have the 
ballet shoes if they had shiney things on them . . . it’s 
a nuisance.” 

‘‘ Get out the dress,” said Hilary. 

Pauline did so, and laid upon the bed a confection of 
gauze and white satin and silver. As she did so the 
clock struck three. 

‘‘ Lord ! ” she exclaimed, ‘‘ they’ll be here in half an 
hour.” 

It was Saturday, and the Amateur Orchestra was 
coming to rehearse for the first time Leonard Benjamin’s 
setting of The Pierrot of the Minute. He and Pauline had 


STAGE MANAGEMENT 233 

been practising the songs since early in April, but they 
had not done so in conjunction with the orchestra. 
Hilary had been elected to take Leonard's accustomed 
place as pianist, so that he might sing his songs as he 
would in the real performance. The Montagues were 
bringing a flapper cousin to replace Pauline at the 'cello. 
When the two sisters descended they found Claire and 
Clement entertaining Freddie Stokes and the Miss 
Montagues and their cousin ; Vera and Leonard arrived 
soon after, and the rehearsal began. 

Claire, and Clement, who had come to Westminster for 
the first time since his return, remained in the back 
drawing-room, with the folding doors open. The orchestra 
grouped itself round the piano, which stood in the corner 
between window and hearth, and in front of which the 
singers stood, facing their audience of two. The practice 
went steadily on for an hour and a half, when tea 
appeared, and a pleasant chattering relaxation set in. 

“Oh, Leonard ! '' Pauline said, “ do you absolutely 
insist on flat shoes ? I've got the most heavenly shiney 
ones on approval, but with heels.'' 

“ Can’t we see them ? ’’ Miss Montague asked, and 
Freddie echoed with studied wistfulness, “ Yes, can’t we 
see them ? ” 

“ I’ll get them all, ’'the girl answered, “ and then you can 
help me decide.'' As she opened the door Vera inquired 
whether the moon-maiden dress was being kept dark, but 
Hilary, with a gesture of caution, stopped her, and, 
propelling her sister gently before her, left the room. As 
they ascended she said : “ Why not put on the dress 
and try the shoes with it ? '' 

Tea was laid in the big room, and every one was clustered 
round the table when Hilary reappeared ; she entered 
from the back drawing-room and came forward quickly 
with a bright, self-satisfied, comprehensive glance at the 
assembled company. Clement rose to give her his seat, 
which she took, and some one said : “ Where’s Pauline ? '' 
The young man was still half turned towards Hilary 


236 QUIET INTERIOR 

when the younger girl appeared. Hearing an exclamation 
he looked over his shoulder, and saw her. Claire, a little 
behind him, watched the line of his jaw stiffen almost 
imperceptibly before she too deliberately fixed her eyes 
on her younger sister. 

What had been a meaningless combination of rare 
delicate fabrics on the bed upstairs was now transformed 
by the wearer into a beautiful, complicated, elaborately- 
simple juxtaposition of draperies. Over a long skirt of 
softest, finely-pleated, pliable silk, panniers of silvery 
gauze billowed and drooped, while knots of white and 
silver ribbons decked the shoulders and waist ; round 
the very low-cut neck a wandering mist of gauze was 
held at rare intervals by mother-of-pearl ornaments ; and 
from under this mist at the back, a straight Watteau 
panel of white satin fell to the ground. Pauline’s neck 
and arms stood well the test of all that pallor, and above 
the gauze scarf her fair, faintly-flushed face shone warm 
and radiant, and her hair, of which each strand had a 
glint of gold, irresistibly attracted the eyes with the 
contrast that its colour and modern arrangement made 
with her dress. 

“ My hair ought to be powdered, of course,” she said, 
putting up one hand to touch it apologetically. ” Look, 
Leonard, these are the shoes I like,” and she held forward 
one foot encased in sequin-sewn white. 

Exclamations of admiration and interest had broken 
out immediately on her appearance, and the girl visitors 
and Freddie Stokes crowded round to touch and examine 
the dress. Hilary stood by looking complacent , as though, ^ 
Claire said to herself, she had designed and carried out 
the costume as well as having stage-managed Pauline’s 
entrance. Claire glanced at Clement, who sat a little way 
off, chin in hand ; his eyes were directed to Pauline, but 
his head was bent towards Leonard Benjamin while the 
latter spoke to him. She saw him nod in reply, and then 
Hilary, crossing the room to his side, and ignoring the 
other guest, said, with a confidential smi^^ : ” Isn’t shei 


STAGE MANAGEMENT 237 

exquisite, Clement ? Don’t you think she’s delicious in 
that garment ? ” 

Yes,” he answered, flushing quickly. 

** I’d like everyone to see and admire her,” Hilary went 
on, with all the pride of authorship ; then turning to 
Leonard Benjamin she added : “You see now what I 
mean by her being a Romney — a twentieth century 
Romney ? Isn’t she rather like Lady Hamilton ? ” 

“Yes, I admit a resemblance,” the young musician 
answered. 

“ Sometimes I think,” Hilary announced, in a slightly 
lowered tone, and with a short laugh, “ that I’d like 
Pauly to marry a duke : she’d make such a splendid 
duchess ! But she’s too good for that — you know 
what I mean ? ” She included both the young men 
in her question. “ It would have to be such a very 
extra kind of duke — not only young and rich, but 
good and clever as well. So I’ve resigned that castle in 
Spain.” 

“ What portion of the globe do you destine her for ? ” 
Leonard asked ; and Claire smiled secretly. 

“ Well, London, of course, part of the time,” Hilary 
answered judicially, “ because she’s too delicious to be 
buried in the country all the year. And yet she suits 
the country beautifully too. It ought really to be about 
half in half.” 

Pauline was now gravitating, still the centre of an 
admiring group, to the door. Hilary went after her, and 
Clement took a chair near Claire’s. 

“ The dress is a great success, isn’t it ? ” he said. 

“ Yes, it suits her perfectly ; she looks lovely in it,” 
Claire answered with a genuine warmth. “ Clement,” 
she went on, “ doesn’t this sort of thing tire you ? 
Remember, it’s your first outing.” 

“ Oh, I’m as fit as possible. I think I shall get quit 
of Park Square in another ten days.” 

Good ; then you’ll come here.” 

“Yes. It will be topping for me. I heard from Oslej- 


238 QUIET INTERIOR 

to-day : he’s written to his cousin about me. He seems 
to have a great scunner on him.” 

“ Yes, he hates him, but he doesn’t mind making use 
of him ! Maurice Osier bets and races and breeds fox- 
terriers — all the things Bill most hates. But I hope he’ll 
wangle you a job. I suppose you’ll have to go and see 
him. If these people go in time I’ll go back to Park 
Square with you, and walk home. Matthew needs ^ 
exercise. You’ll come to lunch and tea here to-morrow, 
won’t you ? ” ? 

“ Thanks, I will.” 

Upstairs Hilary was helping Pauline to change back 
into normal clothes. “ Has it occurred to you,” she said, 

'' that Clement is rather particularly attached to you ? ” 
Her sister stopped in the act of putting on her skirt to 
answer ” No ! ” decisively. 

” Well, he is.” 

Oh, I don’t think so, Hilary. I’m not particularly 
his sort.” 

My dear Pauline, take it from me. Not his sort, 
indeed ! I don’t know what sort he wants, in that case. ; 
No ; to do Clement justice, he does appreciate you ; why, j 
he can’t take his eyes off you ! I feel quite touched by I 
his devotion. He’s a charming boy.” ^ 

Yes, he’s a dear.” Her tone was interested but not 
deeply concerned ; devotion was not quite an unknown 
tribute ; there had been Russell Lincoln and Ivor Webb 
and Major Elliot and Freddie Stokes, and one or two ^ 
others half forgotten now. In a moment, however, i 
another aspect of the subject struck her. ” Has Claire I 
noticed, do you think ? ” she asked. j 

Hilary hummed, tapping her fingers on the white i 
bedrail. ” He may very likely have confided in her, as i 
they are such great friends ! ” she answered. Yes, I \ 
expect Claire has noticed ; sitting like a little mouse, she * 
must see a good deal. She’s content to be a spectator, 
Pauly ; but when you’ve seen as much as I have and 
have got experience of people and insight into things, you 


STAGE MANAGEMENT 239 

want to use your knowledge. I must say I’d hate to sit 
tamely by and let Fate take its course ; and I think you’re 
like me ” 

As usual, the flattery in the suggestion that Pauline 
was also a woman of the world, a woman of action, worked 
with such warm, immediate potency on the latter that 
she had no attention to spare for any lurking disloyalty 
to Claire in the implied partnership, or for a defence of 
Claire against Hilary’s derogatory tone. She felt herself 
at once soothingly lapped in an atmosphere of under- 
standing and appreciation, and pleasantly stimulated to 
the task of becoming as experienced and accomplished 
as Hilary. The sense of comradeship was delightful, and 
that much of the charm was due to the fact that she was 
being flattered she did not perceive. She had once or 
twice wondered why her elder sister, with her wide 
interest, numerous friends and acquaintances all over the 
world, and her large correspondence, should be so taken 
up with a girl of only twenty ; there was something 
disinterested, something almost noble, Pauline thought, 
in Hilary’s preoccupation with her. The same idea had 
never once occurred to her with regard to Claire ; she took 
Claire’s interest for granted. Hilary, returned after 
three years, was something rich and strange, and the 
enthusiasm with which she discussed her youngest sister’s 
clothes and conquests, flirtations and future was in itself 
a form of flattery that no girl of unformed character and 
adaptability could have resisted. 

Clement reminds me a little,” Hilary presently went 
on, in a voice as nearly approaching the softly reminiscent 
as she could attain, ” of such a nice man I knew in Simla : 
a Captain Everard. He made love in the dearest way — 
I could hardly bear to refuse him. He had the same way 
of looking at me as though I was a revelation from heaven 
as Clement has of looking at you. And he was so shy and 
charmingly awkward about it all, like a great schoolboy, 
only not horribly clumsy, you know. They make the 
very nicest kind of husbands, that sort.” 


340 QUIET INTERIOR 

*‘Why didn't you marry him ? " 

“ My dear child, he hadn’t a sou. And anyway I 
wasn’t prepared to live in India for the rest of my life. Of 
course, I was very young then, but still, I knew it wouldn’t 
do. I dare say if he’d been in Clement’s position I should 
have succumbed,” she added gaily. 

” Come on,” Pauline replied, ” I’m ready.” 

They returned to the drawing-room and began to eat a 
belated tea, in the midst of which Hilary was called to 
the telephone. This instrument was situated in the front 
hall, with an extension to the library ; and the girl, not 
wishing to be overheard, went into the room to answer it. 
As she hung up the receiver her father entered, with 
letters in his hand, which he at once began to slit open 
with a paper-knife. 

” More dissipations ? ” he said, with his habitual grim 
good-humour. 

“ More and more.” Hilary answered lightly, going to 
the door. Here, however, she paused, as though a thought 
had struck her, and she asked if he wanted tea. 

” No, I’ve had some . . . T’s, t’s, t’s,” and he shook his 
head over the letter he was reading. 

” Do you want Claddie ? ” the girl inquired, hngering. 
“ The party is just going.” 

” When she’s got time ; when she’s nothing to do — no 
hurry. Don’t bother her.” 

Hilary went up to the drawing-room again, and, going 
over to Claire, said : ” Father seems to have got the 
wind up over his letters. Could you go down to him for 
a minute ? ” 

Claire glanced round ; the Montague girls were already 
saying good-bye. She followed them downstairs and 
went to the library. 

Tom Norris dictated to her a long urgent letter, which 
she took straight on to her typewriter. When it was 
done she rose. ” I’m going back with Clement to Park 
Square,” she said. 

” I thought I heard his voice outside just now,” her 


STAGE MANAGEMENT 241 

father answered. Hurry along there, young miss, or 
you’ll keep him waiting." 

Claire found no one in the hall, where, however, they 
might easily have been without her hearing, for the noise 
of her machine at close quarters filled her ears to the 
exclusion of further noises ; she ran up to the drawing- 
room and found Hilary alone. 

" Where’s Clement ? ’’ she asked. 

" Oh, Clement and Pauline went off in a taxi. I told 
him you were busy with father, and Pauline wanted to 
give Thomas a run, so she took him in with them and is 
going to walk part of the way back." 

Claire stood dumb before this open confession of 
outrageous manoeuvring. She parted her lips but closed 
them helplessly again, while Hilary sat sewing calmly and 
steadily by the window. Her green bag, her gilt scissors, 
her scarlet needle-book, a roll of white lace and a knot of 
sky-blue ribbon, lay in a group of bright patches on the 
parquet at her feet. The linen chemise, full of innumer- 
able tiny stitches and fine embroidery had grown with 
remarkable rapidity during the last few days ; Claire 
longed to tear it from her competent hands, squeeze it 
into a crumpled ball, and hurl it into her astonished 
face. Instead, she turned slowly towards the open 
aperture between the rooms ; there Matthew confronted 
her, with bright eyes asking for a walk. She took three 
swift steps and knelt down by him, encircling his grey 
neck with her arms. He moved, unwilling to be im- 
prisoned, anxious for liberty, but she held him for a 
moment, kissing his velvety nose and soft head between 
his ears. 

" How you do love that dog ! " said Hilary in clear, 
amused, tolerant tones. 

Claire raised herself and faced her again. After a pause. 
" He’d never be unkind ; he’d never harm me," she 
answered, and turned finally away. 

She took Matthew into Victoria Street, drearily empty 
on Saturday afternoon. The shops were closed, the 

q 


242 QUIET INTERIOR 

Stores shuttered and barricaded. A few Anzacs patrolled 
hither and thither, a few lovers strolled. Claire, passing 
mutually-absorbed couples with linked arms, had a 
sudden sharp pang of envy such as she had never felt 
before, and a sudden desolate sense of being one unwooed, 
unlinked ; unmindful, even, of the special significance of 
Saturday, when works and offices, shops and areas dis- 
gorge their employees for a half-holiday. Saturday was 
meaningless to her ; but then, so were the other days, 
so was the world ; she was cut off from something which 
gave each day a core, each week a culmination, and life 
itself a value and a tinge of glory ; she was, somehow, 
outside. She began to look curiously at the couples she 
passed, some standing entranced, some pacing slowly ; 
but immediately she caught herself up from prying and 
spying ; Leave them to their joy. 

A taxi passed her slowly ; she thought of Clement and 
Pauline together. 

Presently she turned back and, glancing westward, 
saw sunset clouds hanging above the roof-tops, lambent 
and remote, saffron and rose ; the roofs and chimneys 
were violet — dark against the pure, far field of ether. 
Fronting it, a high window across the street flashed like 
a golden diamond, like a sudden conflagration. 

In Claire’s mood of hightened sensibility and emotion, 
any incident was food for fancy, anything could become 
an image of existence. She saw herself now as a lower 
window, blank and grey, which never can or will reflect 
the intense radiance of sunset ; which can at best be 
but a clear pane, at worst a mirror of dull walls opposite. 
She made an involuntary sound that was half a sob, and 
Matthew, passing close, looked up with curiosity and 
trust and friendliness into her face, and saw her eyes, 
magnified by shining tears, gazing steadfastly ahead. 


CHAPTER XIX 
The Steadfast Friend 

Throughout the first week of June, Clement spent a 
large part of each day at the Norrises’, returning to Park 
Square for late dinner, sleep, breakfast, and the treat- 
ment of his wound. He could now walk with a stick ; 
the doctors were satisfied with his cure, so far, although 
he would always have a slight limp, due to the fracture 
of his ankle bone. 

Since Hilary’s decision to approve of him, an event 
which, except in so far as its result was a closer relation 
with Pauline, neither pleased nor displeased him — of 
which, in fact, he was unconscious — ^he had been as often 
in her and Pauline’s company as in Claire’s. He was 
treated by Mr. and Mrs. Norris as a son, by Hilary as a 
protege, by Claire and Pauline as a brother. The latter 
had ceased to ignore him ; she even evinced a desire for 
his presence. The words, “ Where’s Clement ? ” or 
** Isn’t Clement coming ? ” were often on her lips, and 
every time this happened in Claire’s presence, the latter 
had a spasm of jealousy to master, a pang to hide. She 
was successful. Never a hint of competition, never a 
shadow of rivalry, marred the open fraternity of the 
sisters’ relations with the young man. Even Hilary had 
stopped manoeuvring — ^the need for manoeuvres had gone. 
She openly discussed Clement’s future with him, advising 
him to buy an estate with farms on a main line — ^this last 
as a precaution against his becoming what Pauline called 
'' moss-grown ” ; and Clement took the offers of advice 
good-humouredly, but would not be drawn into discussion. 
Claire thought that she could detect in him a certain 


243 


244 QUIET INTERIOR 

reservation with regard to Hilary ; though he had never 
said anything to suggest that he resented her interest ; 
he seemed to take her, with her sisters, perfectly for 
granted. 

One day in the first week of June, when her father 
was out, Claire took some work up to the back drawing- 
room. The folding doors were shut, and beyond them 
Pauline was playing Schumann’s “ Carnival " ; probably 
Clement was with her. Presently Hilary came in dressed 
for walking. 

“ Hallo, where are you going to ? ” Claire asked. 

“ I had a telephone message from Claridge’s that 
Mrs. Byng had arrived there and wants me to lunch 
with her. You know she’s Major Elliot’s sister ? She 
might very easily be useful — knows everybody. Her 
husband has a flagship.” While speaking, she came 
close to Claire, and stooped to pick up an article which 
had fallen from the latter’s knee. It was a receipt book, 
and Hilary began — ^whether idly or with intention her 
sister did not know — ^to turn the pages. 

“ Is this one of father’s ? ” she asked. 

''Yes,” Claire answered, stretching out her hand for it. 
" It’s the Serb thing he’s treasurer for.” 

Before handing it back the other turned to the latest 
inscribed counterfoil, and said, " Hallo ! ' Lieut. 

Clement Parsons.’ So father rooked Clement ten 
pounds ! ” She handed the book back with a short laugh. 

Claire made no answer, and her sister continued : 
S' He’s very generous, if he contributes that amount to 
every one who asks him.” 

" He is generous,” Claire remarked mildly. 

'' Oh, well, he can afford to be,” Hilary returned ; and 
at that moment, so insolent were her words and tone, her 
sister could have strangled her. What did Hilary know 
of Clement’s means ? Only what she could deduce from 
hearing that he had sold Sparrow’s Farm, and she did 
not even accurately know the extent of that ; she had 
not yet been to Sparrows. 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 245 

Mrs. Norris now entered, fortunately, to interrupt a 
colloquy so painful to Claire, and to ask her children's 
plans for lunch. I’m going to Lady Eden's,” she said, 
” and I’ve arranged with Clement to drop him at 
Stewart’s ; he’s meeting his Aunt Julia for lunch there.” 

” Could you drop me at Claridge’s, mother ? ” Hilary 
inquired. 

” Of course, dear. Come along. Where’s Clement ? 
Claddie, you and Pauline will be alone with Tom. See 
that he eats enough.” 

When they had departed, Pauline came in and sat 
down opposite her sister. 

” Claire,” she said, ” I’ve been feeling guilty for ages — 
no, to be truthful, I’d forgotten all about it, but I did 
feel guilty ; and Clement talking about that Margesson 
man to-day reminded me of it.” 

” Of what ? ” 

” That I told Hilary what I suppose was a secret — 
about him leaving his money to Clement. I let it out 
quite without thinking.” 

” When ? ” 

” Oh, weeks ago — just after you’d told me. Does it 
matter ? ” 

Claire was thinking : ” So that’s what put her on to 
Clement ! ” hearing again the voice of Hilary say : ” Oh, 
well, he can afford to be.” 

” No,” she said, ” I don’t suppose Clement would 
mind Hilary knowing, as long as she doesn’t pass it 
on ” 

” Why should she ? ” 

” But of course I wouldn’t like Clement to feel he 
couldn’t tell me things because they got repeated. Perhaps 
I was wrong to tell you.” 

” I’m sorry, Claire,” Pauline said, with genuine re- 
morse, ” though I can’t see how he could mind, as long 
as it didn’t go outside the family.” 

” I don’t expect he’ll mind if you tell him,” Claire 
answered dully, It was with heavy sorrow that she 


246 QUIET INTERIOR 

remembered the occasion on which she had confided in 
her sister — the sense of renewed friendship, of intimacy 
and affection; it had meant so much to her, evidently 
so little to Pauline. 

“ Yes, I’ll tell him,” said the latter, almost eagerly, 
then, looking at the other with a faintly embarrassed 
air — unusual in her and unexplained by her words — she 
went on : “You know, Claddie, that Hilary thought 
I ought to have married Major Elliot ? It's his sister 
she’s gone to lunch with. It’s rather an odd coincidence 
— his engagement is in The Times to-day.” Her faint 
embarrassment was still unexplained. 

“ Yes, I know — about Hilary, I mean ; I hadn’t 
noticed his engagement. But when you say ‘ ought to 
have married him,’ I suppose you mean she thinks you 
would have done well for yourself if you had ? ” 

“ I suppose so, you old hair-splitter.” 

“ Because you certainly oughtn’t to marry anybody 
you don’t care for awfully,” said Claire, tentatively, 
but with inward determination to make the most of this 
rare hour alone with her sister. 

“ Yes,” Pauline agreed, with unusual gentleness. 

“ I’m certain it’s worth waiting for that,” the other 
pursued in the same tone, with her eyes fixed on her 
sister’s face. 

“ Yes,” the latter repeated, turning as if under com- 
pulsion towards her sister. 

“ And you’ll know,” Claire told her, “ when it 
happens.” 

“For certain ? ” the younger girl asked, hke a child 
asking guidance of a wise elder. Her humility, her 
gentleness, her bright and happy countenance, moved 
Claire profoundly ; she hesitated before giving the 
desired assurance. 

“ Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ll know,” she finally said. 
“ Perhaps not quite for certain at first ; but after a httle 
while you’ll feel it so clearly, you won't have any doubts 
at all.” 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 247 

Pauline answered nothing ; she had come as near to 
avowal as was possible in the circumstances. Her 
embarrassment was explained ; her reference to Major 
Elliot had been her ingenuous method of leading up to 
the topic which was occupying her thoughts ; Claire 
was profoundly glad and grateful that she should have 
indirectly consulted her on a question of such vital im- 
portance; it showed that Pauline was not finally and 
completely alienated from her by Hilary's influence. The 
revelation of the bent of Pauhne's thoughts did not startle 
her ; no visible or audible sign of her younger sister's 
awakened interest in the young man had been lost on 
her ; nor did she ignore the probable effect on Pauline of 
Hilary's attitude towards him — an attitude of pleased 
discovery, not untinged with surprise that any friend of 
Claire's should be so worthy of lifong and respect. Claire 
could not, of course, know, though she suspected, how far 
Hilary had gone in verbal suggestion to Pauline ; but 
she thought the interest shown by Hilary in his future, 
and the advice she proffered, attributable not merely 
to her innate and constant wish to have a finger 
in every pie, but also to a mental pairing of him with 
Pauline. 

This brought her to a subject which had been puzzling 
her a little — Clement's contented acceptance of the 
prospect of a safe post. Negotiations were already on 
foot to obtain his transference from his regiment either 
to one occupied in home service, or to the War Office ; 
these could not be carried further until his discharge 
from hospital and the definite utterances of a Medical 
Board, which events were not expected to occur till the 
end of June. Meanwhile, he showed no displeasure 
at the unlikelihood of his return to the front, and, knowing 
him, Claire was surprised. 

On the day following her conversation with Pauline 
she found herself, for the first time since he had been 
allowed the freedom of his days, alone with Clement in 
circumstances which precluded interruption, and she 


248 QUIET INTERIOR 

determined to approach the subject so as to ascertain his 
feelings. 

They were in the Norrises’ car on the way to Bond 
Street, having dropped Mrs. Norris in Knight sbridge, on 
the quest of a wedding present for Henrietta Lincoln, 
whose marriage was fixed for the third week in June. 
Claire’s errand was at once a pleasant and a painful one ; 
the purchase of a wedding gift such as would delight 
Henrietta was an act she had been looking forward to ; 
but lately weddings, engagements, and all things con- 
nected therewith held something of pain for her ; not 
only envy, of which she was ashamed, but some other 
emotion too, strangely compact of sinking fear and numb 
resignation, as though they reminded her of a doom 
which she dreaded, but was impotent to avert. She left 
this sensation unanalysed ; she shirked the contemplation 
of it ; she had not mentioned it to Henrietta ; she scarcely 
admitted its existence to herself. But to-day she suffered 
it afresh, sitting in the limousine with windows open, 
Clement at her side, the neat woman-chauffeur in front, 
and London — ^the London of the Season although the 
London of war-time — ^humming on all sides. 

** Are you looking forward to going to the War Office ? ” 
she asked. 

He did not answer at once, but leaned towards the 
window, looking out ; it was a dull, warm day. ** I 
think so — quite,” he finally brought out. ‘‘ Why ? Do 
you think I shall be fearfully at sea there ? ” 

Oh no ! I’m sure you won’t.” 

And of course I mayn’t get it. They may send me 
on light duty to Lowestoft or somewhere God-forsaken 
like that. Or on the Staff in France. It all depends 
in the first case on what my Board says, and in the 
second whether Lieutenant-Colonel Maurice Osier wangles 
successfully. I imagine that dozens of men want War 
Office jobs. However, my luck may last.” 

I only hope so.” 

I have had luck, Claire ! It makes me feel a skunk ; 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 249 

when you think of the chaps who have been out for 
months — years even, and who 11 remain there. Not to 
mention the other poor chaps. ... Yes, I can’t deny 
I regard it as luck. I don’t thirst for the trenches. If 
I’ve got to be done in, I want to see some life first. Of 
course it’s worse for men who leave wives and families, 
but at least they’ve had something.” 

“ Yes,” Claire agreed softly. 

He turned to her with a suddenly confiding air, and 
said smiling, a little embarrassed, Claire, I’m rather in 
love with life nowadays. D’you understand that feeling ? 

** Of course I do, Clement. And I’m fearfully glad 
you do. It’s a splendid feeling.” 

He kept his eyes on her face, still with an intimate, 
boyish, infinitely appealing smile, and replied, “ I know 
you do. You understand everything, Claire.” And, 
though smiling, his tone was deep with recognition of her 
friendship. 

She looked back at him steadily, with pride and joy 
and misery, surrendering in that moment — not him, 
whom she had never possessed, but the last faint, sick, 
secret hope, the last pale, mortally-wounded dream, the 
unuttered, unformulated, impossible demand. She could 
will and wish now only for him — never for herself ; and 
work and win for him ; yes, even though it entailed wish- 
ing and working in conjunction with her sister Hilary. 
She had realised once, months ago, soon after his first 
advent to Westminster, that she could finally refuse him 
nothing ; then, at Sparrows, that principle seemed to 
have been belied ; she had obeyed her own unerring 
instinct and not the message of his burning look ; but the 
contradiction was more apparent than real — ^that desire 
of his was so fortuitous and transient. What he had 
wanted then without knowing, and what he wanted now, 
and knew that he wanted — ^the desire lying before and 
after the week-end at Sparrows — was the essential desire 
to which she responded. It was a blade dividing him 
from her, but which she took to her heart, for it had 


250 QUIET INTERIOR 

become a sacred trophy ; he had offered it to her wreathed 
with his praise. She could not be less than he thought 
her : his steadfast friend. And she believed, to-day, for 
the first time, that his desire was not impossible ; that 
it was indeed within his reach, should he stretch out his 
hand eagerly, ardently, swiftly enough. She knew that 
Pauline would respond to no timid or half-hearted lover, 
far less succumb ; he must be bold and open, he must 
give his passion play. Only by open eagerness and 
ardour could he hope to win her ; and swiftness was 
needful because, while now he held the field alone, at any 
moment a rival might appear. 

Clement,” she said, lightly, but with an undertone 
of serious advice, “be as impulsive as you feel ; don’t 
check yourself ; above all, don’t be diffident . Oh, Clement, 
diffidence is the devil. Go ahead and enjoy life, and ” — 
she broke off, fearing that her solemnity would rise up 
and engulf her surface gaiety. The young man supplied 
the end of the sentence. 

“ And damn the consequences, were you going to 
say ? That’s what I feel like to-day ; but I must say, 
Claire, I wouldn’t have expected such reckless counsel 
from you ! ” he laughed happily. 

“ I know your opinion of me,” Claire answered, laughing 
too. “You needn’t repeat it. According to you, when 
some one asks me what I did in the Great War, my answer 
ought to be : * Straw-chopping and hair-splitting ! ’ ” 

The rest of their speech had no serious undercurrent. 
Claire, dissembling her sickened heart, listened to his 
voice as he talked and jested, took covert glances at his 
brown, balanced profile, and wondered if the horror of 
the situation in which she found herself would drive her 
sooner or later from his presence — away somewhere, she 
knew not where, out of the sight and the sound of the 
being she loved best in the world. 

Claire was the only member of the Norris family invited 
to attend Henrietta’s marriage ceremony. This took 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 251 

place very quietly at a Registry Office, decorated — or 
rather, hung and quartered — with photographs of former 
registrars. Lucy ; a Lincoln uncle, holding by the 
hand a thin, polite, intensely interested female child ; 
an artist friend of Bill’s on crutches ; and Bill’s elder 
sister, Mrs. Warren, fashionably dressed and obviously 
regarding the whole affair as daringly unconventional, were 
the only other guests ; for Henrietta, though she had a 
wide circle of acquaintances, had no very intimate friend 
save Claire, and few relatives, while Bill had been deter- 
mined all along to make the actual wedding as secret as 
possible. As we can’t have a fancy-dress pageant with 
high-born infants chucking rosebuds about and Henrietta 
disguised as a Harrod’s White Sale — I mean, as the Snow 
Queen — let’s be as furtive and dark and suspicious as 
possible, what ? ” he said. 

“ If it’s suspicion you want. Bill,” Henrietta answered, 
” you may set your mind at rest : people are bound to 
think — if not say — that I’m getting married in a hurry 
for a very good reason. ... I think it’s only kind to bring 
a little entertainment into the drab life of our District 
Registrar. I’m sure he hardly married anybody, except 
a few barristers from the Inns — and I expect they correct 
his legal phraseology, which must be galling. The rest 
of the time I think he commissions oaths — yes, I know 
that sounds amusing — so it would be if they were my 
oaths; but really it’s the most stodgy occupation. . . . 
The only thorn in the ointment is that I thought the army 
had turned Bill into a real English gentleman ; but it 
was actually he who suggested being married at a Registry 
Office.” Her voice took on a deep note of scandalised 
horror. ” Think of that, Claire ! He belongs to the 
brutal and licentious soldiery. . . . Every one knows that 
Registry Offices are improper. ... Of course, I meant to 
dispense with a ceremony altogether,” she added, with 
a sudden change to a tone of exaggerated cheerfulness. 

Not for the first time during her speech Claire glanced 
apprehensively in the direction of Mrs. Warren and Mr. 


252 QUIET INTERIOR 

Lincoln senior ; she did not know whether these persons 
were accustomed to Henrietta's burlesques, and hoped 
that they had not overheard her recent verbal indis- 
cretions. 

They were standing in the brilliant June sunshine 
outside the office, waiting for the arrival of Bill’s friend, 
who was to sign the register. All who passed stared, 
and turned to stare again over their shoulders at the 
coloured group, and to wonder at its business. Claire, 
dimly conscious of a sinking sensation, was glad to stand 
silent in the heat and light, one of a cheerful company ; 
she had for the moment abrogated all personal senti- 
ments and moods, and responded to the collective feeling 
of gaiety and satisfaction. Henrietta and Bill were 
happy, momentarily at least ; Mrs. Warren was pros- 
perous and contented, and stimulated now by an im- 
pression that she was being Bohemian ; the elderly Mr. 
Lincoln, though serious, was mild and calm ; the quick- 
eyed precocious child was full of quiet satisfaction with 
her muslin dress and blue ribbons and importance. Only 
Lucy, aloof and silent, recalled her to everyday life and 
her own troubles ; he was for her a more poignant 
reminder of the war than Bill’s uniform ; his eyes, staring 
darkly but not vacantly across the street above the heads 
of his companions, seemed to pierce the houses and the 
miles and to contemplate the battle-fields of France and 
Flanders. It was more probable, however, that he was 
simply sad at the imminent loss of Henrietta. Claire 
told herself that she was apt to attribute too visionary 
and romantic a cast to Lucy’s melancholy. At this 
moment a taxi drove up and the young officer, with only 
one leg and crutches, was helped to descend. 

Afterwards they all lunched in Soho — “ to be as Comp- 
ton Mackenzie-ish as possible,” Henrietta explained for 
the benefit of Mrs. Warren. Their entrance to the 
restaurant caused a smaU stir ; the juxtaposition of 
maimed manhood, manhood unmarred and obviously 
newly married, and delicate femininity always titillates 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 253 

the mental palate of the partially-educated. The 
restaurant was discreet but not cheap ; the patrons were 
leisured ; they had both time and taste to speculate as 
to the relationship of the wedding party, and to criticise 
the women’s clothes. 

“ This is beastly,” said Henrietta softly to Claire as 
they chose their seats, ” I thought I liked notoriety, but 
this is odious. Sit by me, Claire ; I don’t see why not ; 
after all, it’s my funeral.” 

When they stood on the platform at Paddington, from 
which Bill and Henrietta were going to Shropshire for 
ten days’ leave, the latter held Claire’s hand tight for 
several moments, and whispered : ” Keep an eye on 
Lucy : he’ll be rather dim.” 

Her friend nodded ; she did not need the injunction ; 
her sympathy was already his. He would be very lonely 
for this week ; but fortunately for him his sister was to 
return to their flat for the duration of the war. 

When the train had gone she lingered by Lucy’s side 
while they bade good-bye to the other guests and found 
Bill’s friend a taxi. Then, lightly touching his arm, she 
said ; ” Come back to tea with us, will you ? Unless you 
have to return to work ? ” 

” No, I’ve got the afternoon off, thank the Lord ! 
Yes, I’d like to come.” 

” Let’s walk,” said Claire. 

It was a glorious afternoon, and the girl was glad that 
she had put on a thin silk dress and shady hat ; she 
pitied her companion in his dark blue suit. When they 
reached the park they sat down by common consent, and 
while the young man filled his pipe Claire produced a 
cigarette and borrowed his matches. ” I never remember 
them,” she said, thinking of Hilary’s characteristic 
possession of a lighter, which apparently never, like the 
lighters of less fortunate mortals, failed to ignite. 

After a silence Lucy remarked suddenly : ” I should 
like to be married.” 

” So should I,” she answered seriously. 


254 QUIET INTERIOR 

“ But it would be appalling never to be alone/' he went 
on slowly. “ Of course, Henrietta leaves one alone.” 

like to have some one there most of the time,” said 
Claire. Some one I like, of course ; not to talk much, 
just to be there.” 

‘'Talking only makes things worse,” Lucy replied, 
leaning to one side so as to put away his pouch and pat 
his pocket, “ but it is nice, when you’ve got the blues, 
to have some one about.” 

This brief conversation had carried them, psychologi- 
cally speaking, a very short way ; and yet their sense of 
intimacy was appreciably increased thereby. Claire 
felt that through Lucy she could get an insight into the 
male mind ; for while being what is called woman-like 
in his understanding and atmosphere he was in most ways 
very masculine, as masculinity is popularly conceived — 
in his distaste for gossip, his lack of interest in the 
details of circumstance and character and conduct, his 
impersonality. 

“ Men do seem to be more impersonal, than women,” 
she said. 

“ Yes, I think on the whole they are,” he answered. 
“ In that way I prefer them. Yet there’s not a single 
man I’d go a yard out of my way to see. As companions 
— bar talk — women are far better. Men, when they 
aren’t bores, are more interesting to listen to. At least, 
that’s my personal opinion.” 

“ I believe Hilary’s rather masculine,” Claire mused. 
“ Perhaps that’s why men like her.” 

Lucy made no immediate reply. He had seen Hilary 
twice for a short space only, and he had never as far as 
his companion knew, expressed his opinion of her. 
“ She’s good looking,” he, however, remarked after a 
pause. “ She’s a nice colour. But unless I was in love 
with her, I think I should find her intolerable.” 

Such a confidence from the reserved, impersonal Lucy 
was surprising ; Hilary’s quickening effect had reached 
even to him ; Claire gave her that much credit ; that she 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 255 

was vital and effective, and either captivated or repelled — 
unless she exercised both these functions simultaneously. 

After a few moments Lucy rose, and stood, half turning 
his back to her, pushing the tobacco down in the bowl of 
his pipe with long, pale fingers. You’re always bear- 
able, Claire,” he said, so simply and sincerely that his 
statement contained no faintest tinge of patronage ; it 
was at once a calm profession of faith and an indirect 
offer of friendship. 

Claire rose too, and they began to walk again. 

Presently he asked, not looking at her : “ Aren’t you 
happy, Claire ? ” 

‘‘ One makes happiness out of things — ^things like 
this,” she answered, meaning his previous speech as much 
as the summer weather and greenery which she indicated 
with a brief gesture. One makes it up out of a few 
things and a few friends.” 

In spite of his silence she knew that he understood. 

As they entered the Norrises’ street at one end, Claire 
perceived at the other Pauline, pacing slowly beside 
Clement, who limped, leaning on his stick. They did not 
see her and Lucy ; Pauline’s eyes were cast down and she 
appeared to be listening attentively to her companion, 
who, with his face turned urgently towards her — ^he was 
only slightly the taller — was speaking without inter- 
I ruption. As the space between the two couples rapidly 
diminished Claire saw a flicker pass across her sister’s 
( lovely and transparent countenance ; and then, as she 
and Lucy paused before her home, Pauline raised her 
, eyes and gave an exclamation of surprise and recognition. 

I “ How long have you been there ? ” she cried, while 
\ Clement, interrupted in mid-flow of speech, looked 
disconcerted, paused in his walk, changed his stick to his 
left hand, and made a brief salute. 

How did it go off ? ” Pauline pursued, not waiting 
for an answer to her first question, and what did 
Henrietta wear ? ” 

Pale primrose yellow linen,” said Claire. 


256 QUIET INTERIOR 

” Oh, I suppose you chose it," her sister answered, 

and what hat ? " 

“ A shady hat with blue and yellow and mauve flowers 
round it." 

Mrs. Norris met them in the hall, and the description 
of Henrietta’s appearance had to be repeated with 
amplifications. 

" Had Osier remembered the ring ? " Clement asked, 
and Lucy replied that Henrietta, in whose keeping it had 
lain for some weeks — who had, indeed, originally bought 
it — ^had given it into her brother’s charge that morning. 

They all followed Mrs. Norris up to the big drawing- 
room, where Hilary was playing over a newly-acquired 
song. She rose on their entrance, with a general smile of 
greeting, crossed to the bell and rang. 

" What do you want ? ’’ Mrs. Norris asked. 

" I imagine that everyone wants tea," she answered 
cheerfully. 

Clement sat down, looking Claire thought, a little 
tired ; but when Pauline went to the piano, and standing, 
began to play over the treble of the song, he followed 
her, saying, in a tone of laughing command : Sing it, 
Pauline. Sit down and play it properly." 

She did so. " The Blackbird’s Song " was not new ; 
she and Claire had heard it some years before at a 
concert. It suited Pauline’s clear, high voice, and there 
was a captivating sound of spring in the octave interval 
at the end of the verse, and a certain fresh charm in 
Rosamund Marriott Watson’s words : 

“ Sweetheart, I ne’er may know 
Never may see, 

White is the blossoms snow. 

Green is the lea, 

All the wood sings of you. 

All the world rings of you. 

Sweetheart, O sweetheart mine. 

Where can you be ? ” 

Claire looked round the room, and thought the spacious, 


THE STEADFAST FRIEND 257 

warm, light interior singularly pleasant and decorative. 
Red-and-white striped awnings shaded the windows, and 
the window-boxes were filled with white daisies and pink 
geraniums. Pauline’s dress reproduced the combina- 
tion ; it was white with a square rose-coloured collar and 
a deep rose-coloured hem. Hilary wore green linen, and 
their mother silver-grey. They were all, including 
herself, fine and strong, delicate and leisured. Every 
circumstance of their lives matched the quality of their 
skins and hair and fabrics ; the wide beauty of the room 
was a fit setting to the beauty and grace of their bodies 
and their silks and linens. Their well-being amounted 
to genius. 

Claire, listening idly and with pleasure to her sister’s 
voice and the quick-running accompaniment, saw Clement 
lean to turn the page. Pauline gave him, as he did so, a 
quick sidelong look, in which Claire thought she dis- 
cerned both mockery and provocation. It might have 
been the merest counter of flirtation. Claire had seen 
Pauline act in much the same way with other men, yet 
she felt as though she had witnessed a transaction of 
secrecy and weight ; as though she had unwittingly spied 
on pledged lovers ; as though she had stolen from 
Clement, by intercepting a look meant only for him, a 
part of his legitimate prize. So sharp was her self- 
distaste that it drowned for a moment the stronger, 
bitterer ingredient of the cup offered to her lips — only 
for a moment, for, with a tiny gasp, such as a sudden 
draught of cold water produces, audible only to Lucy, 
she rose abruptly, and with one wild, pale, secret, hunted 
look his way, left the room. 


CHAPTER XX 

Shaking the Tree 

Do you want to go over any of your songs ? '' Hilary 
asked. 

No thanks,” Pauline answered. 

Does anything need doing to your dress ? ” 

No thanks.” 

'' Are you nervous ? ” 

** No thanks.” 

Mrs. Norris interrupted this litany to beg Pauline not 
to fidget. The latter was standing by one of the windows 
in the big drawing-room playing with the blind-cord. 

Sorry, mother,” she said, and, sitting down, took 
up Vogue. But her eyes deserted the page after a 
moment and wandered back to the window. 

” I don’t think it’s going to rain,” Hilary remarked 
with cheerful primness. 

” Oh ! no,” Pauline answered, with a slight start. 

I don’t think so ; at least, I mean, I hope not.” 

It was the day of the performance, and also the day of 
Clement’s Medical Board. Great white clouds sailed 
across the blue at intervals and obscured the sun, but 
only for a moment ; there was no threat in them. The 
awnings were not drawn down to-day, for the heat was 
not excessive, and the sunlight lay in three great panels 
across the moted air and on the parquet. In summer, 
on warm days, the big room was always used ; two 
months of almost continuous habitation had given it that 
air of intimacy without disorder which turned it from a 
spacious saloon into a gracious, homely, natural interior. 
Hilary’s green work-bag and a book of Memoirs lay on 
258 


SHAKING THE TREE 359 

one table ; on another were piled papers and magazines. 
Some music was scattered on, and reflected in, the black 
polished surface of the piano, like the first-fallen leaves 
on a dark mere ; the writing-table was open. An 
enormous jar of delphiniums, all shades of blue — metallic, 
Chinese, violet, wedgwood and pale cerulean tinged with 
green — stood between two of the windows, and like an 
answering note, two bowls of love-in-the-mist flanked the 
mantelpiece mirror. 

Mrs. Norris, clad in a long flowing dress of green, was 
reading the births, deaths and marriages page of The 
Times, while Hilary studied the Daily Mail. The Daily 
News, taken at Claire’s request, and never read by the 
rest except inadvertently, and sometimes secretly by 
Mrs. Norris, lay on the floor. 

Claire was closeted with her father ; but at noon he, 
her mother and Hilary were due to depart by motor to 
Bushey to lunch with the family of the elderly young 
Conservative, whose conquest Hilary had made at the 
dinner-party in May. They were to return early in the 
afternoon so as to get to Mrs. Benjamin’s for tea. The 
performance of The Pierrot of the Minute was arranged 
for half-past five. 

Presently the clock in the back drawing-room struck 
the half-hour. 

“ That clock’s slow,” Hilary stated, glancing at her 
watch. “ It’s twenty-one minutes to eleven.” 

“ The car is ordered for a quarter to twelve,” said Mrs. 
Norris. ” Have you got to go out before that ? ” 

” No, I’ve only got to beautify myself.” 

” What are you going to wear ? ” her sister asked 
idly. 

” My cream-coloured silk jersey-dress. Do you think 
the green straw hat or the black tulle ? ” 

It was obvious to anyone knowing Hilary well that she 
had already made up her mind which hat to wear, but 
she had formed the habit, flattering to Pauline, of con- 
sulting her at intervals on questions of toilette. Whether 


26 o quiet interior 

the younger girl suspected that the question was merely 
formal, or whether she was preoccupied, she did not at 
all events seem to be giving it her consideration ; she 
continued to turn over the pages of Vogue, and to hum 
the air of “ The Blackbird’s Song.” Hilary’s eyes were 
fixed on her, and their influence caused her to look up, 
and say as though hurriedly recalling her wandering 
attention : ” Oh — the black tulle, I should think.” 

” I’m not sure that transparent hats look right with 
jersey silk. Aren’t they rather too afternoonish — garden 
partyish ? I think, on the whole, I shall wear the green 
pedal straw.” 

” Oh, do ! do ! ” Pauline answered, with impatience. 

” Why, what is the matter with you this morning, 
darling ? ” her mother inquired, surprised at her tone. 
” You must have got out of bed on the wrong side. Or 
are you worrying about this evening ? Is that it, dear ? 
I’m sure you’ll do it beautifully, Pauly. You used to 
act so nicely when you were little.” 

The girl rose impulsively, and crossing the room to her 
mother, bent to kiss her. “I’m sorry if I sounded 
snappy,” she said. ” I’m sorry, Hilary, I suppose I am 
a Httle nervous,” and she laughed with a certain restraint. 
Mrs. Norris, holding her youngest daughter’s hand, and 
looking dreamily into her transparent face, filled with a 
sort of delicate pink and white glow, saw a tiny pucker 
set between the eyebrows which she had never seen 
before. ” You’re feeling quite well, aren’t you, darling ? ” 
she asked. 

” Oh, yes, mother. It’s nothing.” She drew her hand 
away and went to the door. ” I’m going up,” she added, 
” to practise in the schoolroom. I can’t lug that old 
’cello right down here.” 

The remaining occupants of the room sat in silence for 
a time. Then the younger said : ” Pauly needn’t be 
nervous ! She’ll pull if off splendidly. To begin with, 
she’s word-perfect — and note-perfect ; secondly, she’ll 
look so stunning nobody will be able to take their eyes 


SHAKING THE TREE 261 

off her ; and thirdly, she's got a fund of self-confidence 
to rely on." 

Mrs. Norris warmed at this generous tribute, almost 
as though it were spoken by a stranger. " You’ve given 
her a great deal of help," she answered. '' I know how 
you’ve coached her and practised with her." 

“ There’s something so satisfactory about Pauline," 
the other pursued, “ she responds so quickly to sugges- 
tions ; she's so adaptable ; it’s hke having a hand in 
creating a work of art." Hilary spoke with calm, sincere 
enthusiasm, and it would have been clear to a perspica- 
cious listener that here was her real bent — the topic 
nearest her heart, which moved her most. She was at 
her least artificial, at her softest and most human at this 
moment : the thrill of the creator did indeed seem to 
• have informed her ; one felt that she had power, and had 
used it well. 

Mrs. Norris was not conscious of all this ; the thrill of 
the creative artist, even the aesthetic thrill which he 
communicates to others through his art, was unknown 
to her. Hilary’s words merely called up a picture of 
Pauline’s prettiness and grace and accomplishment ; the 
latter was certainly no mean production ; and her mother, 
lacking even the intense jealous passion of maternity, 
felt her heart swell with a mild moonlike pride. " She 
is certainly a very dear girl, a^very lovely girl," she said. 
And then, not liking to leave her other offspring out in 
the cold, she added : " And Claire is a dear girl, too ; 
quieter, of course, and not so pretty ; but still, I some- 
times think she looks quite distinguished." 

Hilary sensibly said nothing : she had nothing to say. 

It was significant of the relations now established 
between Hilary and her adopted mother that it never 
occurred to the latter to make any soft reference to the 
eldest of the three daughters herself ; Hilary was treated 
by her, in fact, much less as a daughter than as a con- 
temporary, with whom Claire and Pauline could be 
discussed because the tie of custom and blood precluded 


262 QUIET INTERIOR 

disloyalty. It was only Tom Norris’s dislike of Hilary, 
and not the latter’s youth, which prevented him treating | 
her in this same way. On the contrary, he behaved 
towards her very much as he did to Mrs. Agnew, whom . 
he also dishked. He respected them both, but for him 
they were scarcely women, and had, therefore, no charm ; 
and so strong was his impression of Hilary’s maturity 
that he had gradually and unconsciously come to omit 
in her regard one or two of his immemorial paternal 
habits. He no longer remarked on the number or absence 
of her letters at breakfast, never reproved her as though 
she was still a child, while maintaining these customs 
towards Claire and Pauhne. It was the price the two 
younger girls paid for his strong genuine love and tender- 
ness. 

Down in the hbrary he sat at his large table, and 
Claire at hers. They had gone through the morning post, 
the girl making notes of some of his answers. He was 
now perusing his press-cutting albums in which Claire 
had placed markers at the pages likely to be useful to him 
in a speech he had to prepare. While he conscientiously 
read all the passages indicated by her slips, she sat, 
turned in profile to him, pretending to tidy her desk ; 
in reality, sunk deep in the slough of despond. 

The chill, wintry resignation which had descended on her 
after her return from Sparrows, had been, at intervals, 
torn and seared by the blows and flashes of momentary 
perception, when some word or gesture, some incident or 
association, made her realise with a brief agonising 
intensity the magnitude of her loss, and the probable 
imminence of yet another painful trial. She was per- 
petually on guard now against self-betrayal, for on 
several occasions, as on the day of Henrietta’s marriage, 
a sign of her torment had escaped her, and she went 
in terror of discovery 

She had once or twice wondered if in truth it had never 
occurred to Pauline that Clement having been originally 
her, Claire’s, best friend, the latter had not some prior 


SHAKING THE TREE 263 

claim upon, or at least some prior sentiment concerning 
him. But she had rejected this idea. Pauline's trans- 
parency was not only facial ; hers was a candid soul. 
She was capable of coming to her sister with : “I say, 
Claire, old thing, aren’t you rather keen on Clement ? ” 
or some such words ; and even had this method seemed 
to her too crude, she would have employed some ingenuous 
means to ascertain Claire’s precise sentiments, had she 
entertained any suspicion of their being more than friendly. 
It was, of course, possible that a step in this direction had 
stopped short at a consultation with Hilary ; Hilary’s 
way with any such unwelcome interruption to her comedy 
would have been short ; but Claire was sure that a 
questioning word or speculative look would have be- 
trayed Pauline’s curiosity. Besides, the girl would never 
have made that tentative, happy, embarrassed half-con- 
fidence of her awakened interest in Clement, if the 
possibility of Claire’s rivalry had ever crossed her mind. 
Pauhne had her opportunity then ; her sister’s expressions 
concerning the unmistakable birth of love might very 
easily have led to questions about Claire’s own experiences ; 
but the younger girl had been openly, ingenuously absorbed 
in her own affair, heedless of her interlocutor’s identity 
as a woman, concerned only with her assurances and 
advice as a sister and a friend. It was quite clear and 
certain to Claire that the extreme familiarity of sisterhood 
reinforced by her own lack of amorous adventures, and 
her reserve, robbed her, in Pauline’s mind, of her real 
attributes of femininity. The revelation concerning Ivor 
Webb had taken its place in Pauline’s mental picture of 
Claire’s existence and personality as an isolated and 
unpleasant incident — as indeed it was. No other man 
had ever been connected, to her knowledge, with Claire, 
except Lucy and Clement ; and here Claire’s own character 
and temperament supported Pauline’s unformulated 
attitude towards her sister’s relations with these two ; 
relations so open and straightforward, so unsexual and 
' platonic,’ that Pauline was not to be blamed for regarding 


264 QUIET INTERIOR 

them exactly as she regarded her own and Claire’s 
relations with girl friends. She had never perceived or 
expected evidence of flirtation between Claire and either 
Lucy or Clement ; she would have been extremely sur- 
prised, perhaps amused, had she perceived it. In fact, 
she took Claire very much at her own valuation ; Claire 
was a familiar sister, not another marriageable girl. 

In this respect, Hilary, of course, was different, in 
Pauline’s eyes. Claire could see the division between 
them in her junior’s mental plan of Society ; whereas 
Claire was the close companion, so near as to be im- 
perfectly visualised, Hilary was the glamour-wreathed 
insurgent. It was the case of the sparrow and the bird 
of paradise ; the canary recognised, at once, its own 
affinity to that golden plumage rather than to the drab 
feathers of its familiar neighbour ; but it is not above 
asking the sparrow’s counsel and gratefully accepting a 
few hints to be collated with the inspiring narratives of the 
paradise-bird ; besides, it genuinely loves the sparrow, 
and the latter takes what comfort it can from this fact. 
Claire tasted and found such comfort insipid to her 
tongue — whose sensibility was blunted, perhaps, by 
prolonged, forced sipping at less palatable fare. She had 
passed through moments of nobility when not only was 
Clement’s happiness the supreme object desired beyond 
her own, but Pauline’s, too, a goal worth striving for, 
with all its attendant pain for herself. But to-day, she 
could not welcome a deeper draught of bitterness. The 
strain of the past weeks was beginning to affect her — the 
continuous eflort to appear normally cheerful, the per- 
petual dissembling of her pain and her emotion at 
Clement’s proximity, her almost shuddering distaste at 
being left alone with him and Pauhne, and her simul- 
taneous unwillingness amounting to inability to leave 
them alone together. She had begun to wonder how long 
she could hold out. She spent more and more time with 
her father, more and more time alone ; and, bitterest 
thought of all, she was not missed ; no one noticed her 


SHAKING THE TREE 265 

absence from their company, no one came to seek her out. 
Perhaps her father had not even noticed that she had 
worked harder of late. 

She rose wearily from her chair, and moved towards the 
door. 

“ Stop a minute ! '' said Tom Norris. 

She paused, waiting patiently, without interest, for 
his next words. 

Come here,'' he went on. 

She crossed to his side, and he took her hand, saying 
gruffly : “ The warm weather isn't doing you any good." 

“ I’m all right, father," she answered, moved by this 
unexpected attention. 

" You'll be glad to get to Sparrows." 

" Oh yes, I shall. Are you coming down with us on 
Friday ? " 

" I may be . . . There now ; that’s all ! You can go — 
I've had enough of you ! Off with you ! " but he still 
held her hand and did not let her go till she kissed him. 

Even then she lingered with a sudden melting inclina- 
tion for his comradeship, which seemed to offer a niche of 
temporary warmth and safety from her isolation. His 
very ignorance of her plight increased his value as a 
companion, although she beheved that his gesture of 
affection just now had signalled a dim intuition of her 
need. 

" Father," she said, facing him across his table, " do 
things get easier as one gets to middle age ? " and her 
thoughts flew backwards to his youthful difficulties, 
described to her by her mother. She watched him put 
down his book and raise his eyes to hers over his glasses ; 
he did so slowly ; and his eyes were puzzled. 

" The cure for difficulties is work,” he answered halt- 
ingly. " That's — er — my experience. To begin with, 
half the troubles — the difficulties are — monetary — finan- 
cial he broke off, removing his gaze from her face, 

as though aware of his own inadequacy of expression. 
His next words showed a doubt of his adequacy 


266 QUIET INTERIOR 

altogether ** Are you worr3dng about the world ? Fm 
not a philosopher, Claddie ; Fm a business man.’' 

" But you must have loved people, and hated them, 
and wanted things you couldn’t have ? ” 

'' When I hated anyone, I always remembered that I ' 
could work harder and, er — better than him ; and so I 
did ; if you — er — beat them, you leave your enemies 
behind. You might say they won’t trouble you any ^ 
more. I was ambitious ; that was what I wanted, Claddie ; ; 

competition is the best incentive. I shouldn’t have met 
your mother if I hadn’t been ambitious.” 

Claire listened to his answer unconvinced. She thought 
it remote from her question, and yet it was the genuine 
utterance of a man who has lived a busy life, if not a full 
one. Many people would call it full, but then he had left 
so much out, as perhaps the ambitious man, the business 
man, the ’ successful ’ man always must. It was a 
genuine utterance, yet it did not meet her case. Her 
question was an appeal for a word of hope and consolation 
to reach her from the harbour of middle-age, an assurance 
that the tossing ceases and the wind is stilled, the sun- 
light serene and the shadows unfraught with tormented 
meanings. 

“ And you’ve got all you want, now ? ” she asked him. 

” You think I’m a lucky man to have such daughters ? 
is that it ? Well, to tell you a secret, I am quite con- 
tented.” 

Claire gave him a little nod in return for his twinkle, for 
she could not smile. 

She went slowly upstairs, wondering when Clement 
would arrive from his Medical Board. She entered the 
back drawing-room, and turning the corner of the folding 
doors, saw him and Pauline standing in the larger room. 

He must have mounted in great haste, for his cap, gloves 
and cane, usually left in the hall, lay on the floor. He held 
Pauline by her two hands ; her head was averted from 
him towards the window ; he seemed that instant to have 
ceased speaking. 


SHAKING THE TREE 267 

Claire turned and moved in the direction of the bureau. 

** Hallo ! V said her sister from the other room. 

“ Hallo, Claire ! ” the young man echoed. 

Looking over her shoulder with an answering word of 
greeting Claire saw that though they had separated, 
neither had come towards her. The wide threshold of 
the larger room framed them, standing apart — Clement 
in his pale, Pauline in her flushed, silence — as a moment 
ago it had framed them in their hand-gripped union of 
lover and beloved. The silence smote on her like the 
vision of a high curled wave, fast approaching, and she 
felt a wild helpless gasping rise in her throat. Unaware 
that she had moved, she found herself faced completely 
round towards them, as though to breast and to with- 
stand the onslaught of the water. Her fists were clenched 
at her side, and her teeth clenched so that afterwards 
they ached. She stepped back, and the bureau supported 
her. 

As though far off, the sunlit room beyond lost its 
brilliance as a cloud obscured the sun, and then regained 
it. The hoarse cry of a lavender-seller, the whirring 
rhythmic tune of a distant hurdy-gurdy, and the subdued 
warm summer rumble of traffic came up through the 
windows inextricably mixed with the tired dusty smell 
of London streets in summer. It all meant something, 
Claire thought, if only she could comprehend the 
language ; it was all intensely significant, if only she 
could find the cipher-key. Clement and Pauline were 
part of this freemasonry of existence — they were in the 
secret. She was outside, alone, uninitiated, forlorn. 

Pauline moved to the door, and went out ; but the 
spell remained unbroken. Nor did Claire lose the sense 
of her remoteness when she crossed the space between 
herself and the young man, and, sitting down, asked him 
for news of his Medical Board. Her voice held one quaver 
of the vanquished gasping ; and the hands laid in her lap 
were slowly refilhng with colour. Not so her interlocutor’s 
face ; but he replied in sufficiently commonplace tones 


268 QUIET INTERIOR 

that it was quite certain he would not be sent again to the 
front. 

Whether I shall get shoved on to light duty remains 
to be seen,’* he added, seating himself in his turn. “ But 

I hope to God not — at least ” he broke off, and pulling 

out his handkerchief, sat forward with his elbows on his 
knees, gently rubbing it between his palms. He did not 
look at her. 

His loss of equanimity, the disturbed serenity of his 
face suddenly gave back to Claire her strength, her 
tenderness, her self-control. The passion of giving, 
experienced so sharply at the hospital, returned to her, 
and with it the power of self-forgetfulness. She leaned 
forward and set her hands on either side of his restless ones. 

“You are almost certain to get the War Office job,” 
she said, “ and anyway, Clement, wherever you are, you’ll 
be in reach of us. And,” she went on, “ the war may be 
over this autumn, and you’ll be able to turn into a stodgy 
old farmer again.” 

He still did not look at her, but answered : “I shall 
never be such a stodgy old farmer again.” 

“ Well, the army is bound to have some effect on you,” 
said Claire, but each knew that it was not the army only 
which had changed him. She took away her hands, but 
remained seated close to him. 

“ I hope I shall be able to come down on Saturday for 
several days,” Clement presently announced ; and as he 
uttered the words, Claire discovered in her heart a full- 
grown decision not to subject herself to the trial they 
implied. 

“ Oh. I’m going to stay with Aunt Connie on Monday,” 
she said lightly. 

“ Claire ! ” the young man answered, looking at her at 
last. “ Please don’t go away the moment I get there. 
Do stay. I was looking forward to us all being there 
together.” 

She shook her head. “ I shall be there for the week- 
end.” 


SHAKING THE TREE 269 

“ Ah, but stay over — anyway, for part of the week. I 
expect I shall have to come up at the end of it to see 
Osier or some one.'' 

Aunt Connie asked " she began, with a sensation 

of defending her very life, but he interrupted impulsively : 

Aunt Connie isn’t nearly as fond of you as I am ! She 
can have you to stay any old time. Please, Claire, do as 
I ask ! ” 

She sat silent, envisaging the prospect before her, 
inwardly shrinking from it, appalled at the possibilities 
of pain which it held. He was asking an impossibility 
of her — that she should witness every stage of his court- 
ship, drink every drop of gall, and this in the setting of 
her one moment of spurned triumph, where she had seen 
him stand within her grasp and had not reached out a 
hand. 

Why are you being so obstinate ? ” he asked her, 
rising and smiling down on her, with a look already 
almost completely normal. “ It’s unlike you, Claire, to 
be unreasonable. Tell me one good reason for having to 
go to Mrs. Agnew’s, and I may be convinced. Without 
that, I shall take it that you've got some scunner on me." 

She turned her face to the window, and it was bleak. 
" Silly ! " she murmured. 

“ Tell me," he went on, still smiling, " what have I done 
to sacrifice your friendship ? . . .You admit I’m blame- 
less ? It's just some rotten fad of yours to choose this 
very moment to go to a place you only go to once in a blue 
moon. It will be splendid at Sparrows, if only this 
weather lasts. And Pauline and I have planned an 
expedition by car which it’s no use trying to explain to 
you without a map ... Is that agreed, then, that you 
don’t go till the end of next week — isn’t it, Claire ? " 

" Very well," she answered, striking her flag. 

They sat together in a row with Mr. and Mrs. Norris and 
Hilary to watch the performance of The Pierrot of the 
Minute in the mellow afternoon. 


270 QUIET INTERIOR 

The low stage was erected against a shrubbery to which 
Lombardy poplars gave height, birches and white-starred 
syr5mga grace and lightness, laurels and laurestines, holly 
and rhododendrons, darkness and density. The entrances 
were made from the back. The Amateur Orchestra, 
seated at one side, performed a short overture composed 
by Leonard Benjamin ; and this was followed by Faur^’s 

Claire de Lune,” sung “ off ” by Pauline. Then, after 
a moment's silence Pierrot entered, bearing a sheaf of \ 
lilies, and, after standing in a pose of listening, broke 
softly into a song of Dowson’s incorporated by the [ 
young man in the play to which it did not really belong : ^ 

“ In the deep violet air 
Not a leaf is stirred ; 

There is no sound heard ! 

But afar the rare 
Trilled voice of a bird.” 

Then followed the opening speech. 

Claire sat in a dream of unreality among the rustling of 
silks and the whispers of the audience. Her eyes were 
fixed on Leonard who, dressed after the foppish fashion 
of a sophisticated Watteau-Mummer, in white, but with 
an unwhitened face, made a picturesque slim small figure 
on the dark green background, in the diffused golden light 
of the summer afternoon. His voice floated out clear 
and precise, filled with the delicate mock sentiment of the 
eighteenth century. Music began again to sound while 
he spoke, very softly and dreamily, and again ceased. 
Suddenly one of his lines brought Claire out of her ab- 
straction : 

” Why came I here, and why am I Pierrot ? " 
and then again : 

” Why am I here, and why am I Pierrot ? " 

The tone and gesture with which these words were spoken 
made them more philosophical than rhetorical, so that 


SHAKING THE TREE 271 

Pierrot typified the eternally-renewed question of man 
confronted with the mystery of life and consciousness. 
She had a sharp sense of man's splendidly proud and 
absurdly futile measuring of himself against the universe, 
his utter insignificance in the face of that vastness, his 
high undaunted courage. Pierrot stood, a white question 
mark against the green leaves ; and the syringa stars 
hanging on the boughs behind him brought to mind the 
invisible stars of the firmament. 

How could it matter at once so much and so little 
whether one human were tormented or content ? Could 
she deny herself because her eyes perceived space which 
her brain could not measure ? Was it not possible that 
her heart contained not only its definite tragedy, but also 
the earth, the heavens and infinity ? Which was the 
truth — that she mattered supremely, or not at all ? 

When her attention returned to the play, her sister was 
entering to the sound of plucked violin-strings, and bend- 
ing over Pierrot, who lay asleep. She looked and was 
indeed a quaint, lovely, mingling of mortal and fairy, of 
costly and diaphanous, of cold and tender. Pierrot 
awoke and was dazzled. They played at school, they 
played at courtiers, they played at love, they sang and 
disputed and stepped a measure. Then, as day's coming 
was signalled, the Moon-maiden charmed her lover asleep 
once more, and withdrew, glidingly, singing a lyric which 
was taken up as she disappeared by two other voices, so 
that the performance ended as a harmony, growing 
fainter, fainter, dying away. 

At once a screen was placed across the front of the 
stage, and at the same time, clapping broke out. Hilary 
leaned forward across her mother and addressed Claire 
and Clement. ** Wasn't it jolly ? Didn't Pauline look 
charming ? " 

People now began to rise and move about. The 
Norrises followed their example and stood in a group 
watching the crowd of visitors strolling hither and thither 
on the sunlit lawn. Besides the lawn and the shrubbery. 


272 QUIET INTERIOR 

there were but two narrow paths and, before the house, 
red-brick walks between rose-beds, the whole garden 
being encircled by a high red wall. It was, for London, a 
singularly green and gracious and flowery spot, whose 
simplicity was in strange contrast to the loaded and 
decorated richness of Mrs. Benjamin’s interior. Mrs. 
Benjamin herself moved with something of her daughter’s 
awkward grace among the guests, while Vera stood in 
an isolated group of her own friends discussing the 
performance just concluded. 

Mrs. Norris, Clement and Claire were all silent, while 
Hilary chattered on undisturbed for a moment. “ I 
arranged with Pauline to help her change her dress,” she 
said, ” only I don’t know my way about the house. Can 
you see Miss Benjamin, Claire ? Ah, there she is — I’ll go 
and ask her.” She went in the direction of the clustered 
musicians ; and the deserted trio turned in mute agree- 
ment and walked slowly towards the house. 

” Pauly was very good,” Mrs. Norris mildly remarked. 

” Awfully ! ” the young man assented. 

” There’s Mrs. Stokes — I must go and speak to her ” 
and the lady left them in her turn. The friends continued 
to pace between the groups and couples laughing and 
tailing on all sides, until they came to the rose parterre, 
terraced one step above the lawn, and intersected with 
bricked paths. Two unoccupied chairs were half hidden 
behind some lilac bushes, and here they sat down. 

” She was beautiful,” said Clement. 

” Yes,” agreed Claire. 

” And her voice ! I’d never heard it properly in the 
open air before. It was lovely — ^it made me think of 
Theocritus.” 

” Yes. It was lovely. Free and wild, and yet ” 

she broke off, and her companion supphed : 

” And yet soft and kind, too.” 

” Yes.” Claire said again. 

They were silent for a long time. The light began 
to grow level, more golden, less diffused ; in the shadows 


SHAKING THE TREE 273 

the lawn was like velvet, and like emerald in the sun ; 
the wall, where the sunlight struck it, was a rich soft red. 
Looking down the garden, they saw that the tide of 
guests was setting slowly towards them, that some were 
already closing their bright-coloured parasols, and one 
or two fussy old ladies wreathing themselves with scarves. 
Mrs. Benjamin took her place close to the house door, 
and there some friends, departing early, took leave of 
her. Vera, gossiping nonchalantly, her dark face clouded 
with boredom, passed unheeding close by her seated 
friends, and as she was between them and her mother, 
hiding the door from them, she stopped suddenly and 
exclaimed to her companion, “ There’s Pauhne at last.” 
Then she moved quickly on. 

Pauline Norris, dressed in palest periwinkle blue, with 
a wide blue hat, stepped down from the terrace to the 
green. At once she was surrounded. 

” It’s no earthly use trying to get near her now,” said 
Clement. 

Claire, her eyes fixed, like his, on her sister, half seen 
athwart the group, shook her head. ” They’ll all be 
going soon,” she answered. 

After a pause he said impulsively, ” Shall I tell you 
what I did between lunch and coming here — ^while 
Pauline was resting ? I bought a car off a man I know 
at Park Square.” 

” Clement ! How amusing. What kind ? ” 

” A Calthorpe two-seater, with a dicky. He’s managed 
somehow to collect a store of petrol — I didn’t ask him 
how ! And now he’s so ill he won’t be able to stir out 
for months, poor chap, so I persuaded him to let me 
have it.” 

Still half in a dream, Claire urged him on to talk of 
his plans ; she had often wondered how Pauline fitted 
into his idea of existence after the war. ” You’ll go back 
to farming ? ” she said. 

” Oh, yes ! I’d rather do that than anything. But 
I’d hke to have a small place in London, too. I can 


274 QUIET INTERIOR 

afford that now/' Suddenly, he rose to his feet. “ Come 
on, Claire, your mother looks like going." 

Claire put her hands on the arms of her chair ; but 
her weight seemed leaden. She had a horrible sensation 
of weakness and impotence. " Clement," she exclaimed, 
almost under her breath, " Clement, give me your hand, 
pull me up." 

He did not hear, for he had moved two paces away, 
and was standing in absorbed contemplation of Pauline, 
who, flanked by Hilary and Vera, and followed by Mrs. 
Norris with Leonard and Freddie Stokes, was approach- 
ing her hostess. Nor did he hear when, with no idea of 
attracting his attention, but as though compelled to 
rehearse a part, Claire repeated in a low stricken voice : 
" Clement, give me your hand." 


CHAPTER XXI 
The Fruit Will Fall 

Claire shut the door of her room quickly and leaned on 
it, panting, as though she shut out an enemy. Going 
up to find Pauline, she had heard through the half-open 
door of the schoolroom one urgent sentence which had 
caused her to turn and fly to her refuge. 

Pauline ! Listen ! I couldn’t bear to be without 
you ! ” The words might have constituted simply an 
appeal, but, spoken in that tone, they furnished an 
answer to a question which had been exercising her. 
She had advised Clement to be bold, and this latest 
incident, combined with the former occasion when Claire 
had come on him and Pauline in the drawing-room, 
proved that he had taken her advice. That silence, 
following an urgent speech not overheard but felt as 
still hanging in the air, and this sentence of command, 
made Clement’s line of action clear. 

It was the day following that of the performance, and 
to-morrow the whole family was to decamp to Sparrows. 
As Claire leaned her back against the door her trunk 
confronted her, gaping for her possessions ; the books 
which she had selected for the maid to pack stood on a 
table near. 

** Pauline ! Listen ! I couldn’t bear to be without 
you ! ” Couldn’t bear ! How easily, she reflected with 
bitterness, those words are uttered ; and how many in- 
tolerable ills are borne, have to be borne, because there 
is no escape from them. With what absolute conviction 
she herself could cry : Clement, listen, I can’t bear 

Z7S 


276 QUIET INTERIOR 

to be without you '' ; and yet she would have to bear it : 

she had no choice. 

She went slowly to a chair and sat down facing the 
window. The weather was cool and clouded, yester- 
day’s glory only a memory. Beyond her room she felt 
rather than heard the rumour of the house, the rumour 
of London, the rumour of the world ; without was 
activity ; within, stagnation. She had the sensation 
of being a pool of water unrefreshed, unstirred, slowly 
evaporating. 

There would be no relief from her own companionship 
until this evening, when she was going to dine with 
Lucy Lincoln at his flat. She had done so several times 
since Henrietta’s marriage, and she looked back and 
forward to the occasions with pleasure. She had then 
found it possible by an effort to banish the thought of 
Clement, to forget her troubles, to sit in Lucy’s bare, 
pale room — so intimately connected with his sister, her 
greatest friend — enjopng his companionship, eating 
supper with his beautiful worn Georgian spoons and forks. 
There was always, after the two simple courses, coloured 
fruit in an old, smooth, creamy Wedgwood dish, and 
dehcious steaming coffee and, for her, Henrietta’s 
cigarettes. His few beloved cared-for possessions, the 
slow tranquil movements of his long hmbs, his silence, 
his rare words and smiles, his rarer deep guffaw, com- 
bined to form an atmosphere at once grave and easy, 
homely and fastidious, sensuous and monastic. Claire, 
sitting in a big upholstered chair, blowing smoke 
luxuriously through her nostrils or turning the leaves of 
a book, had a sense of being shut off from the world. 
Not that Lucy was precious or inhuman, he did not 
despise existence, he only found it wearisome. Sometimes 
he and his guest would chant alternate stanzas of a litany 
in celebration of life’s pain and tedium. At others they 
would distil into a few words the peace and joy which 
they experienced in the country, their delight in the 
seasons and the flowers. Once they had gone together 


THE FRUIT WILL FALL 277 

to a revue, and had returned on foot through the dark 
streets from Soho to Westnainster, chuckling over the 
quips of the low comedian. 

Claire never spoke to Lucy of her personal troubles, 
and she knew that Henrietta had not done so, yet she 
thought that he divined at least a part of it. There was 
a kindness in his impersonality which touched her ; even 
the choice of dessert and the care with which he poured 
the exact amount of milk into her coffee seemed tributes 
of sympathy and friendship. There was, too, she 
imagined, a shadow of kindness in his inscrutable eyes, 
and his gesture of greeting and good-bye reminded her 
that he was her friend. 

But between now and this evening lay a wilderness to 
be traversed ; not a vacant desert of tranquillity, but a 
tract of lurking dangers. Prospecting it, she felt fear 
rising in her, and to dispel this exaggerated mood she 
rose and began to wrap her shoes in their tussore silk 
shrouds, laying them on the bed. As she did so she 
counted up the things she had to do before the evening : 
to draft one letter for her father’s approval, to type out 
another, to exercise the dogs, and to sort the music in 
the drawing-room and schoolroom with a view to taking 
some to Sparrows. This brought her back to her recent 
quest ; she had, when checked, been seeking Pauhne 
to give her a telephone message ; an answer was required 
immediately, and she must nerve herself to deliver the 
message whatever obstacles might present themselves. 
She rose and, going to the door, paused to collect herself. 
Then, opening it, she called, “ Pauline ! I say, Pauline, 
where are you ? ” 

After a brief pause her sister’s voice replied coolly, 
“ Here,” and she appeared in the passage. 

Claire retreated into her room. ” The Stokes particu- 
larly want you to dine with them to-night, and go to a 
theatre. Gertrude says Captain Arbuthnott lost his 
heart to you yesterday.” 

” Oh, really ? ” said Pauline, coming into the room. 


278 QUIET INTERIOR 

** That’s awfully good of him, but as a matter of fact I 
have no intention of going out to-night.” 

” Well, will you ring them up at once ? They wanted 
to know immediately.” ‘ Claire turned to her trunk as she 
spoke. 

Her sister went to the table and began to pick up the 
books one by one, glancing at their titles. ” Yes, I'll 
ring her up in a minute. I must say Captain Arbuthnott’s 
admiration leaves me cold.” Her tone suggested that 
she was inclined to conversation, but Claire merely 
rephed by asking her to hand over some of the shoes from 
the bed. Pauline did so, and then returned to the books. 

” Rupert Brooke ? — I’ve never read him.” She began 
to read a poem here and there. ” What does ‘ Libido ’ 
mean ? ” 

” Desire, lust,” Claire answered. 

” Oh.” She read the sonnet through to herself, and 
then, apparently, a second time ; at all events she kept 
her eyes on the page, saying thoughtfully after a pause, 

” ‘ Love wakens love.’ ” Finally she put the book down. 

” Sometimes,” her sister rephed, looking up and sur- 
prised at her own impulsiveness. She stayed on her 
knees, resting her hand on the brink of the trunk, and 
studied Pauline. | 

The latter’s appearance was, and had been, exactly as 
usual ; there was no hint in it of anything untoward 
having occurred, as there had been after her interview 
with Ivor Webb in the schoolroom. Then she had been 
flushed and a little dishevelled ; now her composure was 
complete, although the extreme coolness of her voice 
when she answered Claire’s summons signified perhaps 
a successful eflort to re-establish a normal exterior and 
self-control. But now, as her sister’s eyes rested on her 
face, a slow, faint flush stained it, and her clear eyes 
clouded. At the sight, Claire rose and stood before her. 

” Claire I ” she exclaimed softly ; and her voice 
betrayed all the emotions she had masked so well, “ tell 
me — are feelings — wrong ? ” 


THE FRUIT WILL FALL 379 

The other kept her distance, and her reserve added 
weight to her words. No,” she answered, ” as long 
as they aren’t just passing sensations with nothing else 
behind. And even then they aren't wrong, only it’s 
wrong to act on them.” The words seemed to be put 
into her mouth ; they were calmly, though gently, 
spoken. All her tenderness was in her look, which 
Pauline, whose flush had faded, returned. 

” But they couldn’t — could they ? — exist alone ? ” she 
asked. 

” Perhaps not with you,” Claire replied. ” People are 
different. If they can’t with you. I’m glad; then it’s 
all right.” 

” They couldn’t be wrong 1 ” Pauline exclaimed with 
a sort of innocent rapture. ” They are too lovely, 
Claire. I didn’t know, I’d no idea, or I would never have 
let — Ivor — touch me.” She paused, and looked past 
her sister while her thoughts gathered. ” I owe you a 
lot,” she said at last, looking at her again. ” And I told 
Clement that I’d given way to Hilary about Ma^gesson, 
and he says it doesn’t matter. So you must forgive me 
too, Claire.” She held out her hand. 

Claire took it, in the formal hand-clasp, as though 
sealing a compact. ” There’s nothing to forgive, then,” 
she said. ” It would only have been hard to forgive if 
it had harmed Clement. But I know you’d never do 
anything to hurt him.” 

” No,” Pauline agreed gravely, ” I never would.” 

Now go and telephone,” said Claire. 

When the door closed she stood a long time motionless, 
letting the significance of the scene drop far down into 
her consciousness. It brought with it a certainty in 
place of the doubt it displaced ; she knew now that 
Pauline’s surrender to Clement’s bold attack was 
imminent. The girl had revealed in their recent colloquy 
the soft emotion which filled her, the revelation of love, 
the wavering doubt — a doubt probably finally routed by 
Claire’s words. Pauline was ripe for conquest, the tumult 


28 o quiet interior 

of her heart was a happy tumult, her candour was un- 
clouded, her impulse warm, spontaneous, innocent. 
She was about to raise to her lips a cup whose draught 
was stainless, though strong ; she would complete the 
gesture at Sparrows, and Claire would testify to its fit- 
ness and its grace. 

Claire stood overawed by the starthng clearness of this 
picture and by the inevitabihty of her own doom. It 
was as though she were on a smooth inchned plane down 
which she shpped and shd, had been slipping and shding 
for many months ; there was no cranny for her feet, no 
roughness for her grasping hands ; only the slightness 
of the incline prolonged her descent. She saw now how 
the path was made of pieces of wood fitted together with 
great skill and precision, closer than the finest parquet, 
and pohshed to a glistening surface. She herself had 
had a hand in its construction, and though she had 
apparently done so of her own free will, she perceived now 
that it had been forced labour. She could no more have 
escaped the dictates of destiny, with its bag of tricks — 
inherited tendencies, environment, education, and that 
still more incalculable master-trick, personality — than 
she could escape death. And there was in this reahsation 
not only horror, but a high consolation ; there was at 
least something unique, complete, in being Claire Norris, 
something which summoned her pride and forbade her to 
despair. In common with the whole race of man, she 
confronted life and its conflicts, the universe and its 
inexplicabihty, death and its finality ; and, in common 
with the whole race of man, she admitted and marvelled 
at their majesty, their mystery, their possession of the 
ultimate word. She possessed nothing but her conscious- 
ness, her individuahty ; her word — half question, half 
cry of defiance — was finite, but it was not a word of 
defeat. 

She moved at last, stiffly, as though waking from a 
trance. Looking at her watch, she saw that she just 
had time to take the dogs out before tea. Opening the 


THE FRUIT WILL FALL 281 

door, she perceived Clement emerging from the school- 
room. 

Halloa," he said, " where’s Pauline got to ? ’’ 

" She had to go and telephone to the Stokeses." 

" Where are you off to ? " he asked, seeing that she 
wore a hat. 

" Matthew and Thomas are waiting to be aired," she 
answered. She had not moved from the threshold of 
her room, and as she spoke a memory came to her of a 
nocturnal talk with Henrietta when the latter had ex- 
claimed that if Clement could enter Claire’s room he 
would know her better. She smiled to herself with 
an irony which somehow enhanced instead of marring her 
exalted mood, and, with a sort of bravado, as though 
snapping her fingers in the face of fate, she stood aside, 
saying : "I don’t believe you’ve ever been into my room, 
Clement." 

In response to her gesture of invitation he went past 
her into the room. " It’s very nice," he said. " Hallo, 
here’s Mrs. Norris — and Pauhne 1 And Henrietta." 

While he examined the photographs she went to the 
window. It was quite easy, after all, as long as she 
need not look at him or say much. 

" What an extraordinary number of nice people there 
are," Clement exclaimed unexpectedly, " or am I par- 
ticularly lucky ? I used to think I had fewer belongings 
than most — not that I minded till father died. And 
then I suddenly acquired a family — people I never want 
to be very far away from. Do you know, Claire, I’m 
filled with an unreasoning fear that you’re going to 
marry and go to Australia or some God-forsaken spot ! " 
He laughed, but Claire did not turn, and he went on : 
"I'm developing a taste for family life ; a patriarchal 
sort of existence. I suppose that’s why I was fed up at 
the idea of your leaving Sparrows so soon." 

She moved and looked at him. She could see that he 
was at once grave and happy, his mood the antithesis of 
hers, which was miserable and exalted. 


282 QUIET INTERIOR 

** Don’t go to Australia ! ” he begged her, smiling. 

** No,” she answered, ” I won’t.” 

He glanced round the room and said : ” I see you’ve 
indulged your passion for grey.” 

She nodded, and went towards the door. The room 
had contracted : they were too close. At Sparrows there 
would be space and solitude ; she would not so dog and 
so be dogged by the ambushed situation. Here in 
London she, Clement and Pauline were crowded into 
too small a cage ; there it would be easier to gain a sense 
of proportion, a perspective, a readjustment of her mind 
to new conditions. Here they perpetually peeped out 
at her from corners, pulling faces and scaring her ; there 
she would be able to envisage, assimilate, accept them. 
It would not be easy there, but here it was impossible. 
The sordidness of having unintentionally overheard 
words and overlooked incidents not meant for her tar- 
nished and coarsened the task of which her conception 
was so bright and fine ; she felt acutely the odious 
position of onlooker which Hilary upheld with such 
complacency 

At Sparrows, too, she would be able to have a long 
visit from Henrietta, whose return to town was fixed for 
Saturday ; and a week-end visit from Lucy. And there 
were all the sweets of summer stored for her. So she 
counted over her possessions, strengthening herself for 
the supreme ordeal. 

She found only her mother and Hilary at tea. ” Pauline 
discovered that Clement had never been to Rumple- 
mayers,” her sister informed her, ” so she hailed him 
forth. ... Of course, it’s not the same thing at all as 
the Paris Rumplemayer, although even it’s not my 
favourite haunt for le five o'clock ; I prefer Gag4, near 
the Etoile, or Colombin, or even Chiboust. There are 
too many Americans at Rumplemayers — they succeed 
in destroying the Parisian atmosphere, which is, after all, 
what one goes to Paris for I Poor Paris ! ” She sighed 


THE FRUIT WILL FALL 283 

with undisturbed equanimity, and helped herself to a 
large slice of cake. 

“ I wonder if Clement is taking his car down to Spar- 
rows,” Claire asked her mother, more for the sake of 
saying something than because she grudged Hilary her 
monopoly of conversation. It was the latter who 
answered her : 

” He's going to run Pauhne down in it. Though where 
he gets the petrol it were better not to inquire.” 

” He said the man he bought it from had some,” said 
Mrs. Norris, and Claire added with some irritation : 

” And anyway, it's his own business.” 

” Oh, you needn’t defend Clement to me, my dear 
Claire. I know that he’s as honest as the day.” 

After a suitable pause Claire began to sort the music ; 
this took her some time. Hilary continued to talk, their 
mother occasionally making mild replies. Claire lent 
only an inattentive ear ; but she became aware at one 
point that her sister was discoursing on the iniquity of 
keeping dogs in town. She expressed the opinion that 
Thomas and Matthew, for instance, would be far happier 
if they were kept permanently at Sparrows. 

” We shouldn’t see much of them,” Mrs. Norris pointed 
out. ” I hke the dear little dogs to be about.” She 
persisted in referring to them as if they were puppies, 
although they were both large now. ” And,” she went 
on, ” Claire and Pauhne take them out a lot.” 

” It’s rather a matter of principle,” Hilary retorted 
calmly. Of course, every one likes having his or her dog 
in town ; but nevertheless, as a general principle, I think 
it is a great mistake.” 

” And I suppose,” said Claire, ” that in the country 
you’d make it a matter of principle not to have them in the 
house ? What’s the good of a dog who’s simply a dog ? 
We have dogs as friends and companions, not as objects 
to wreak our principles on.” She spoke with perfect good 
humour, all irritation was absent from her voice ; she 
looked calmly at her sister, offering her her own com. 


284 QUIET INTERIOR 

“ Your metaphors are rather mixed,” said Hilary. 

And when you say ‘ our,* are you speaking for Pauline 
as well as for yourself ? ” 

” Yes,” Claire answered. “ I don’t imagine that I 
love Matthew more than Pauline loves Thomas.” 

” Of course I'm fond of animals too, but I think your 
way of speaking is rather ridiculously exaggerated.” 

” You don’t care a rap for animals, and your way of 
speaking proves it.” Claire’s amiability was not one 
whit disturbed ; only her heart filled with the exhilaration 
of battle. 

” My dear Claire, you’re merely being childish.” 

” My dear Hilary, you’re merely hedging.” 

They confronted each other in silence, the elder girl 
sitting, the younger standing, a pile of music on her arm. 
Their eyes met, and neither would give way, until Claire, 
conscious of victory, smiled and added : ” However, 
there’s no point in discussing it, as neither of the dogs 
is yours, and they’ll come back here with us to town in 
the autumn.” Then she turned and left the room. 

What Mrs. Norris thought of this encounter nobody 
inquired, though Claire subsequently wondered. 

Claire found the maid packing her trunk and stayed 
for a quarter of an hour to help her. Then she went 
into the schoolroom and began to sort the music there. 
It was in great disorder ; half Samson and Delilah was 
missing, and two ragtimes were lovingly enclosed in 
Woolf’s rehgious songs. With a sense of usefulness, she 
found the stray portions and classified the songs and 
pieces in various Afferent piles. 

Outside it had come on to rain ; transparent veils of 
rain fell down between the houses ; the dry paved court 
of the club and the dusty leaves of the plane trees quickly 
became dark with moisture. Claire stood at the window ; 
it was almost her favourite pastime ; she found endless 
entertainment in the minutest occurrences which she 
witnessed — a hand or part of a face at a window opposite, 
a cat furtively passing below, a pigeon and two or three 


THE FRUIT WILL FALL 285 

sparrows, a whistling errand boy, a silent, luxurious 
motor, children with nurses and a perambulator, persons 
apparently of the dullest sort, started in her trains of 
grave, sensational, romantic or amused conjecture. She 
was a spectator highly sensitive to suggestion ; she needed 
only the slightest stimulus. The present scene contained 
no foot passengers, and if dramas enacted themselves in 
the club opposite they did so behind curtains. More- 
over, the grey wet made the afternoon dreary. Neverthe- 
less Claire remained a long time staring out. Perhaps 
the sober view suited her mood, which had fallen from 
the height of courage to the everyday level of restraint 
and patience and pain. Only she could not forget the 
height ; the draught of that air had strengthened, and 
perhaps still sustained her. She remembered that she 
had risen above conflict and resentment and the tyranny 
of thwarted aims ; and though simply to be herself 
seemed now a forlorn, small destiny, stripped of beauty 
and promise, she remembered that it had seemed then a 
splendid responsibihty. And it would come again, 
though she had lost it now — that sense of relation with 
the universe, that emotion towards hfe. It could never, 
at least while youth lasted, desert her finally ; it would 
come to her again at Sparrows, where she was going to 
bear the final strain of battle, to suffer the final defeat, 
to witness the victory which she had not contested. She 
would look up and see the sky through the leaves and 
unswollen fruits of the orchard trees as in the spring she 
had seen it through the blossom of cherry, apple and 
plum ; and, recognising once more the inevitability of 
her pain, she would testify once more that for the living 
soul surrender to despair is impossible. 


The End 


IVy/nan & Sons Ltd., Pritders, London, Reading and Fakenham 






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